#because I KNOW this will not be the last time i feel the urge to capture his perfect face

[rowarn]

shadow entity!ghost cw: it/its prns for ghost, protective!ghost, implied vomiting from a hangover, sexual assault by third party, implied murder of said third party, unedited /: part: one

it was strangely easy to fall into the life of living with an unknown shadowy entity in your house. it wasn't particularly talkative or friendly -- it was sort of like living with a really creepy, introverted roommate. except occasionally it made the atmosphere feel 5x heavier around you. and there was always the looming threat that it would kill you.

your life outside your home continued on -- college, work, and the difficulty of making friends now that you lived in a new city. a bar is where you happened to meet a guy -- phillip, you recall his name. he was older than you but seemed quite polite.

after a night of drinking, you return to your home, buzzed and happy. you stumble into the house, brows furrowed as you tossed your shoes off before collapsing in a heap onto your couch. the springs creaked under your weight and you groaned at how uncomfortable it was. but you weren't going to be able to make it to the bed, you knew that for sure.

just as you were drifting off to sleep, that familiar, heavy feeling filled the room.

"ghost..." you sighed, "i'm drunk."

"drunk?" its deep, echoing voice came in response, sounding almost confused.

you were too out of it to consider that too much, instead simply explaining, "i had too much to drink."

it hummed in response, offering nothing further. you finally relaxed letting you sleep overtake you.

only to wake up with a hangover. you jumped tot your feet the moment your eyes opened, throwing yourself over the toilet bowl. sweat beaded on the back of your neck as that oppressive feeling washed over you.

"are you still drunk?" it asked, making you groan.

"i fucking wish," you spit into the toilet, cringing at the awful taste that still lingered on your tongue before sitting back and leaning against the wall, "this is what i get for drinking, i guess."

"drinking?" it asks, curiosity lacing its tone.

you hummed, "you know, alcohol," it remained silent and you raised a brow, "what? you didn't drink alcohol when you were alive? jeez, what century were you from?"

"i am alive," it responds easily.

you grunted, "right, right. you're not actually a ghost, that's right. so what--"

your phone obnoxiously ringing stopped you short. you stood, steadying yourself using the wall before you stumbled out into the living room to find the device. it was sitting on the floor, clearly having fallen there sometime while you slept.

when you answered it, the familiar voice from last night spoke -- asking you out on a date. as much as you wanted to say no because of the raging headache currently pounding behind your eyes, the desire for actual human connection after being away from your friends for so long urged you to agree.

so you did.

the date went surprisingly well, he was a gentleman and polite with a bit of a sense of humor that had you grinning through the entire dinner. he even paid for both your meals and by the time the two of you were walking out, you were more than willing to invite him over to your place.

"ah, but," you cleared your throat as you stood on your doorstep, suddenly remembering the problem inside, "i have a uh...roommate. it- he is a little odd. i-if you hear any...weird sounds, just ignore it. he's kind of flighty and shouldn't bother us otherwise."

"that's alright, sweetheart," phillip assured, offering you a kind smile as he followed you inside.

when you stepped in, you were relieved that you didn't feel ghost's presence.

"do you want a drink?" you ask, wandering towards the kitchen.

"sure, darlin'," he mumbled, looking around your place.

"have a seat if you'd like," you smile, disappearing into the kitchen.

as you grab a glass, a familiar, dark form takes its humanoid shape in the corner. you jump, almost dropping the object before you glare at it.

"ghost," you hiss, keeping your voice low so your guest doesn't hear you, "don't scare me like that." it remained silent, simply standing there. you could feel eyes burning into you, making the hairs rise on the back of your neck, "look, he's just gonna be here for a little while, okay? then he'll leave. just...don't do anything, alright?"

it remained silent, it's shadowy figure wriggling and shifting with varying shades of darkness. you tried not to stare too long -- staring into that murky black always had you seeing weird, scary things from within that disappeared the second you blinked.

"ghost," you urged it to answer you.

it didn't offer any response before vanishing. you sigh in relief but still feel apprehensive that it was going to do something to scare your guest. phillip was the first real, human connection you had since moving here and you weren't about to let that little shadowy shithead ruin it.

you plastered a smile on your face before greeting him back in the living room. phillip grins and thanks you for the water, taking a few sips before placing the glass on your table.

after a few moments, sitting up and making sure that ghost wasn't going to make an appearance, you settled into the couch and turned on the tv -- the otherwise deafening quiet of the house really stifled the atmosphere.

the energy between you and phillip grew and grew until you found yourself kissing him right there on the couch. as you pulled away to take a breath, he dove back in immediately, pushing you onto your back. you frowned, hands moving to his shoulders to push him back a little bit. he didn't mind, moving his lips down to your neck and to your neckline.

"h-hey, slow down, phillip," you mutter, pushing a little more forcefully at his shoulders.

"can't," he breathes, sounding positively drunk on you, "i've wanted you since i first laid eyes on you."

you roll your eyes, frowning when his fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, "hey-! i told you to stop!"

as soon as the words fell from your lips, the lights flickered dangerously. phillip didn't seem to notice but you knew immediately. your guests hands continued to wander and you kept trying to push him off to no avail.

"s-seriously, stop it," you cried, growing more nervous as the seconds passed.

how could a simple need for human connection turn out so rotten?

"don't want to," phillip huffs, "i know you want me too, baby."

"no!" you shriek.

then, all at once, something terrifyingly heavy fills the room. you know that sensation all too well -- it was the night you first saw ghost's shadowy form.

phillip paused, no doubt feeling that same dark feeling looming over the both of you, making it hard to breathe. he looks confused, "what the-?"

the floorboards creaked, loud, booming footsteps coming from some unknown place in the living room. it sounded right next to you yet across the room at the same time.

darkness surrounded the both of you, blocking out the living room completely until all you could see was darkness. somehow, your eyes were able to adjust, seeing phillip's petrified face, a strange, purple filter seemingly coloring the both of you within the shadow.

"close your eyes," it's voice sounded completely different now. though it didn't address you, you knew it was talking to you so you quickly did as you were told and slammed your eyelids shut.

your breathing was labored and loud as was phillips. he sounded terrified.

"what the fuck?!" he cried, a petrified kind of voice you'd only ever heard in movies.

then, a scream. an animalistic, horrified scream you didn't know could come from a human being. you squeezed your eyes shut tighter before slapping your hands over your ears to drown it out. but it was impossible, it was too loud -- too horrific to block out.

the scream was cut off, complete silence following that made your ears ring. you couldn't resist opening your eyes to see what had happened.

but there was nothing.

just the inky blackness of ghost's shadow. no sign of phillip to be seen.

slowly, the darkness dissipated, taking shape in that familiar, humanoid form. your living room came back into view and your eyes adjusted painfully to the sudden light.

"ghost?" you pant, finding it difficult to catch your breath after that. you look around frantically, "what was that? what did you do? where did he go?"

ghost didn't respond, shadowy form flickering in and out and sight before vanishing completely. you frowned, heart racing in your chest so painfully that it made your head pound.

you looked around, for any sign of the man you had brought home. but there wasn't a single sign he had ever even been there. it was silent in your home aside from the tv playing in the background.

you sunk into the cushions of the couch, unsure of anything that had just happened. you were starting to doubt that phillip had even been there to begin with.

but on the floor was a black scorch marked circle. right where ghost had stood.

[hedwig221b]

Do you have any fic recs that involve chasing? Like Derek gives in to the urge to run after stiles and catch him?

I kind of didn't really understand what you were asking lol so here are a few types of "chase" fics:

Mating Run Fics:

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time.

Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels.

Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles. But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

The Cursed Wolf by SinQueen69

2023 Suggestion Anon Wanted: Feral alpha Derek, who has been cursed and got in that feral state. The only way to lift the curse is the "sacrifice" of a pure heart. And Virgin Omega Stiles is willing to help him but the ritual has to be a mating run.

When Things Go Right by SylvieW

Stiles is nervous for the mating run. What if his soulmate is disappointed? Scott’s convinced that Allison will catch him, but Stiles isn’t so sure of his best friend’s girl, and the results could be upsetting for everyone.

Angel Choirs and Magic by LadyDrace

Derek has been very, very patient, and has shown frankly incredible self-control in the face of brutal teasing and flirting for two months. But now it's time for the mating run, and he's about to get his reward.

Except for how maybe it's actually Stiles getting a treat. Win/win.

Stiles gets kidnapped and Derek gives a chase:

Out of Focus by exclamation

Stiles was taken prisoner by a coven of witches. Now his only chance of getting home is if he learns how to control his own magic… and stops blowing stuff up by accident. With surging power inside him that he can't restrain, Stiles must deal with memories of the nogitsune, and fears that he might end up hurting those he cares about.

Meanwhile, his family and friends don't even know if he's alive. His father desperately searches for answers, and Derek will do anything in his power to find Stiles, even if it means asking an Argent for help.

of gods & monsters by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“I’m not the best at conversation. I’ve been told I have no finesse for it.”

Stiles took a step closer to Derek, pushing the billowing silk out of the way. “And what would you say if you looked at me now?”

Derek looked up, startled for a moment when he realized he was now looking at Stiles’ unveiled face. He was silent for a beat, taking in Stiles’ features for the first time, convinced he would never see such beauty unveiled for him alone.

Stiles runs away and Derek catches his ass:

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void.

It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

My Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“If he wants to mate Stiles, why not let him?” Jackson asked, ready to part with Stiles if need be.

“Because if I did that, I’d be demoting Lydia,” Alpha Stilinski replied.

“We don’t even know how good of a Beta he is,” Lydia countered, bristling some that her status was being challenged.

“That’s because he’s not a Beta,” Alpha Stilinski stated. “He’s an Alpha.”

If you wanted fics with their own chasing scenes, I am sorry to inform you that I have a memory of a goldfish, and do not remember any in particular, though I am sure they exist somewhere in the wild. If someone knows some, please, feel free to add!

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | mafia

[rimunagenius]

The Five Times Caitlin Clark Wanted to Kiss You - C.C

❝ word count: 3.4k ❞

❝ warnings: RPF!! , fluff , two massive idiots in love ❞

❝ rimunagenius speaks: this might be the very first time i fulfilled the promise of uploading something the night I say i will … everybody clap for me pls!! 🙂‍↔️ anyways … sorry this is actually pretty long but i actually feel like i cooked so bad on this !!! also yes, i used todays game day fit for reference in this … do not judge me rn … ❞

| Women’s Basketball Masterlist |

The first time:

You two had been best friends your entire lives. You lived right next door so seeing each other almost every day, being together all hours of the day wasn't an uncommon occurrence. That's why when you two had been couped up in her room all day, a long day of swimming in her pool, it didn't phase anyone in the home. Including yours. 

The talk about starting your senior year of high school was something that came up quite often this summer. Nerve-wracking but also excitement-inducing. "Who do you think will play again this year?" You lay on your back, your feet at the edge of the bed, the cool wall barely ghosting your toes while your head hung off the bed, next to Caitlin's. 

You looked to the side, analyzing Caitlin's face. She looked very pretty. Her cheeks were rosy from the slight sunburn that began to set into her pale skin, brown spots that appeared to be new freckles scattering her rosy cheeks. 

She sat on the floor, her back resting against the bed you appeared to be dangling off of. She turned her head to you, looking away quickly realizing the proximity between the both of you. Her patience and self-discipline began to grow weary the last two months of summer being around you all the time. She couldn't help but notice that you had grown into the most beautiful girl in the world. 

"Well, I know Sydney got pissed last season because we played well together that she only got playing time when you and I weren't on the court or the field. So I have no idea if she'll want to come back." She shrugged looking back at you, her eyes dropping to your tongue dragging across your lips quickly before looking away. 

"Yeah, I feel bad about that. We're just better together." You looked at your best friend, her brown eyes locking with yours for what felt like the longest moment of the whole day. 

"Definitely better." She whispered, suddenly the urge to meet her lips with yours getting increasingly harder by the second. Suddenly it didn't feel like she was all alone in what she seemed to think about you this whole summer. 

You scooted your head just a tiny bit closer, closing the distance to dangerous proximity, your breath practically fanning over the other. You both inched closer, the tension between the both of you growing. 

"Dinner's ready." Colin came bursting through the door, looking at the both of you. Both your heads shot in the direction of the intrusion, suddenly whisking away any possibility of you two. 

"We'll be right there." You said, cheeks suddenly growing hot and pink as you sat yourself upright and stood. 

Caitlin Clark, your best friend, just almost kissed you. 

The second time:

You two had just graduated and you both couldn't be any happier graduating together. The celebration with your families took place tomorrow so tonight was just you and Caitlin. All of your friends had left a while ago, pushing an hour ago, and you two stayed at the cool lake together. 

She just picked you up and ran and jumped into the water with you. You came up from the water laughing so hard your stomach hurt, it softly echoing in the space around you. You swam in front of Caitlin, studying her face as the sun began to set behind you, the pretty hues painting another artwork on her already flawless face. The pretty pattern they painted in her chocolate eyes. 

You fought the feelings you had been growing for the brunette all of your senior year. It wasn't obvious to anyone else but you two. The irony of it all made you laugh. "Will you miss me when I'm gone? Promise to visit or meet back home?" You asked. The soft pain in your heart started to settle and make home when she announced she committed to the University of Iowa and you Iowa State University. 

Both are at home but yet so far away from each other. "Of course, I'll miss you. How could I not miss this pretty yet obnoxious face hounding me every day." She ruffled your wet hair, swimming a little closer towards you. Would it be strange to say that in the cold water, you could still feel her warm body radiating its warmth towards you? 

"Good. Can't have you going and abandoning me now that you're miss hotshot, all-star recruit." You hugged her, enjoying the stark contrast of the water and her body against yours. You pulled away, your eyes getting lost in hers. You couldn't possibly kiss her. 

She fought demons and all the thoughts telling her to just kiss you because she won't see you for a long time after you both leave. One kiss wouldn't hurt the friendship, right? But it would. She didn't know for sure that you liked girls. The longing glances, the lingering touches, and the indirect confessions you two shared late at night throughout the year still weren't sufficient pieces of evidence to convince the brunette that you shared the same admiration she did for you. Love. She was in love with you. 

She couldn't ruin the friendship. That's why when she noticed both your breathing growing heavy, the eyes bouncing from eye to eye and to each other's lips, the declining distance, she had to cut it short. She'd rather love you in silence than announce it to the world and lose you in the process. "You're my best friend, you know that?" She looked at your face, scanning it to make sure she didn't say the wrong thing. Maybe she should have just kissed you. In the privacy and knowledge of only you two. 

"Yes, of course. You're mine." You whispered, pulling apart and reaching for the deck to pull yourself out of the water and dry off for the night. 

The third time:

You had quite literally sweated through your tank top under your Clark jersey while you anxiously watched what was the last minute of the BIG 10 tournament with the Clark family. Your team had been eliminated a couple of games ago, so you made haste in coming to see your favorite girl play.  You and her mom holding hands, Colin on your other side while you held his hand. Caitlin had a stellar game so far, so you shouldn't have felt as worried as you did, but you couldn't help but feel nervous because you knew how badly she wanted this. 

You came to see her and have been attached at the hip for the last three days like old times. You watched her relentlessly practice her shots, you assisting in her off-the-dribble shots, contested shots, her quick release shots. You spent hours in the gym with her. You watched her practice and the team, you had complete and utter faith that they'd secure the win, it was just nerve-inducing to watch it all unfold. 

She had pulled another logo three off a screen, the whole family, including you, celebrating among the thousands of other people in the arena. The cheering halted for moments before the final buzzer, signaling the win Iowa University had secured. 

The shouting and screaming that ensued was enough to rupture the eardrums in every single being in this arena. You and Colin embraced while jumping up and down that all of your guys' favorite girl had won the biggest game in her career. This was truly an unreal feeling for a mere spectator in Caitlin's life, so you couldn't possibly imagine how this must've felt to Caitlin while she celebrated with her team on the court. 

It wasn't long before the family was allowed to make their way to the court and celebrate with the champions. You greeted all of Caitlin's friends who had soon become yours within the last few days. You congratulated them on their win and praised their efforts in making it all possible. 

You caught the eye of Caitlin, deep into a post-game interview, her eyes meeting yours, a soft smile gracing her lips as yours reached your eyes. You couldn't have been more happier and proud that she achieved what she so desperately wanted and hoped to accomplish for herself and this program. 

You and her parents waited for her to finish all her other obligations before thinking to interrupt to celebrate, it was quite taxing due to the excitement and pride the five of you harbored for the brunette, but it left a lull in the celebration between you. "You know, I'm glad you were able to be here. I know how much it means to Caitlin that you could make it tonight. I know how much it means to me and Anne that you stayed her best friend through all these years, being another major support system for our girl. You're a part of our family and we love you, kiddo. Just thought I should mention it." Brent leaned to the side, and low, to be able to reach your ear close enough so you could hear him over the roar of cheers among the women and their families. 

His eyes trained on the happiness of his daughter while she hugged her teammates trying to make her way to you guys. You looked up to the man, the man whose house you spent the majority of your childhood in. You smiled to yourself at his confession, nearly bringing tears to your eyes. "Of course. I was happy to come and make her game. I wouldn't miss it for the world. She's worked so hard and I'm glad to see the amazing player and woman she hoped to be." You patted his back, him looking at you at your confession of Caitlin. "I'm glad you consider me part of the family too. I would hope so because then I spent all those years asking for food and sleepovers for nothing, Mr. Clark." You both laughed. 

Unbeknownst to you both, Caitlin had been sauntering over to the lot of you. Her family. She never admired your beauty more than she did right now. She loved that you could spend the moments in her absence, talking and laughing with her parents and brothers. The look of this picture seemed so natural to you. 

She could kiss you so badly right now, wanting nothing more to relish in the thought of you finally being far more than just her best friend. The attraction she had for you, doubled tenfold, just by the small interaction you shared for being absent for the last three months. 

She couldn't get enough of you. 

The fourth time: 

It was mere hours passed from the point where you, Caitlin, and your family celebrated her win in the BIG Ten tournament that you two spent the night quietly in your apartment. You had invited her over, leaving the option for her to celebrate with her family of course, and she gladly accepted your invitation. 

You two had cleaned up for the night, you changed your clothes, showering most immediately when arriving home, letting Caitlin wander around your place for the first time. She showered second, changing into old pajamas you kept of hers over the years. "Cait, I seriously can't believe you guys did it! I mean, I can, but oh my god it's still crazy." You looked at Caitlin who sat at the island barstool just watching you. Attentive to what you had been saying and the way your eyes literally shined talking about her. It settled a warm feeling in her chest, that some like you, especially you, could talk about her with such joy and adoration. 

"You literally looked amazing out there, Cait." You smiled at her, placing the strawberries you had been cutting into the bowl next to the cutting board. You two had already eaten dinner at a restaurant with some players from the team and their families. You two just wanted a snack and all you had were strawberries and whipped cream. 

"Thank you, pretty." The blush in your cheeks suddenly matched those of the berries you had just placed in front of Caitlin. You turned to grab the whipped cream from the fridge, trying to bask in the cool air to ease the flustered look on your face. Failing miserably. 

"Of course, Cait." You smiled. You really could not stop smiling whenever you had been around her. It was becoming concerning. Not literally, but seriously, the happiness and giddiness were becoming funny at this point, especially amusing the brunette in front of you. You suppose that's why she kept calling you names like that. Except the effect is more efficient in person and not over Facetime. "Do you want something to drink?" You asked, clearing your throat. Suddenly the air becoming increasingly thick to breathe when she looks at you the way she has been for the last twenty minutes. 

You opened the cupboard, noticing that the cups you needed were on the second shelf, the shelf you indeed could not reach. "Hey, do you min—" You turned to face Caitlin, seeing her already two steps ahead of you. 

She stood behind you, placing one hand on your hip. Surely she needed to balance herself, but she was six foot...

You sighed quietly, fully knowing she could hear you but it didn't matter. She reached her other hand, picking up two glasses with one hand with ease. Caitlin waited til the last possible second to remove her hand from its place on your hip. She placed the glasses, down, closed the cabinet, and turned you around to face her, all while her one hand remained on your body. 

Looking at her this close, with the both of you sharing the same look, and surely the same thoughts about the other, was something totally different than all the other times. Granted the other times both of you had a nudge of what could transpire between you both, just less courage and lack of all the information keeping you from doing so. 

But right now, the reaction she managed to draw from you, her being so close she could hear it and feel you beneath her, the feeling of your body growing warm at the mere thought of her touching you anywhere else was something so different. There was more clarity about your guys' relationship right now than there has ever been before. 

"You're so pretty. Do you know that? It's unreal." Caitlin whispered, her face now next to your ear, the feeling of her breath sending chills anywhere and everywhere. You could not believe this was happening right now. How could you two act like best friends if what you think is about to happen happens?

"I wouldn't say unreal." You seriously could not muster a better response than the first, most flustered, yet idioticly undertoned answer that came to mind.  You looked into her eyes, suddenly unaware of anything else. Her eyes were chocolate brown, almost black in ill-lighted rooms but right now they were the center of your captivation. It would be a national crime to look away right now. 

Caitlin could see the way she was making you feel right now. She couldn't lie to herself and say she didn't feel the same way you did, she was just better at hiding it than you were. "No, I think that's exactly the word I'd use. So pretty." Her voice gets significantly faint and breathless at her last sentence. Her lips now significantly closer to yours. 

You reached a hand up and rested it on her cheek instinctually. You held her face close, your body now pressing into hers. Both of Caitlin's hands were resting on either hip, holding you as close as you'd allow. 

This was a major dynamic change of your friendship and you two were processing this as you went. It was scary to think about. You tilted your head up, breath fanning over her lips, her pace in breaths matching yours. Both of you felt so extremely overwhelmed but the good kind. Your eyes met each other, the action making it feel like a butterfly sanctuary inhabited your belly as the moment occurred. 

"Caitlin, are you going to kiss me or not?" You sighed, the desperation evident in the tone of your voice. You sighed at the force of which one of her hands reached the back of your neck, pulling your face into hers. She kissed you so hard you couldn't breathe. The way she grabbed so gently yet so desperately like if she didn't, you'd vanish. 

This was truly something out of a movie. The years of build-up between the both of you. The feelings that were so secretive yet not so. It was a perfect act that transpired in your kitchen. 

The fifth time: 

Caitlin was in a rush to get ready, fully under the impression that you were already done and just waiting on her. The second you both walked into your shared apartment in Indiana, Caitlin bolted to your guys' room and hopped in the shower. They had beat Chicago Sky for the second time this season and you had gone in shorts and a black form-fitted crop top, with Caitlin's jersey over it. You had told her you had to change and that was it, but it panicked Caitlin that she would have to complete a whole routine before she would be ready. 

"Baby, have you seen my—" She paused in her hurried state, looking at you, suddenly unimpressed at the state she found you in. "Baby, are you kidding me?" She chuckled softly as she found your face buried in a pillow. You had already put on your spaghetti strapped, long pencil dress, curled your hair, and all you had to do was your makeup. 

"I'm just a little tired, Cait." You turned over, looking at your fiancé with a sleepy smile on your face. You patted the spot next to you, putting your face back into the pillow. Wanting to be near your beautiful girl at the moment while you lay in your shared bed. 

"Let me get dressed. You need to do your makeup before you start to complain that I didn't tell you sooner because you have no time." She slid on a sports bra and a white crop top. Her underwear and her forest green shorts followed. She plopped on the bed next to you. 

"I don't want to do my makeup but I do. I just want to lay here with you. For like...ever." You sighed as you rolled onto your side, your arm sliding over her stomach, cuddling you two together. "Baby, we have to go." You sighed, looking at her with a pout on your lip.

"Yeah, I know that. You're the one laying on me." Caitlin looked down at you, watching you get up. She sat there and watched you as you walked up to your vanity in the corner and started your makeup routine. She couldn't believe you were real. You two grew up together and not once did she believe that you'd be this gorgeous. It was literally like watching an angel. 

You had caught her eye through the mirror, and you blushed profusely, suddenly aware that she had been watching you this whole time and you just now noticed how insane you looked with unblended concealer and contour. "Stop looking at me like that." You proclaimed, cheeks blushing and lips curled into one of the biggest smiles. 

"Like what?" Caitlin whispered, her hands folded in her lap. God, she couldn't help but smile whenever she seemed to be looking at you. 

"Like you want to kiss me so bad." You blended out your concealer and contour, now putting blush on. Hoping it'll conceal the blush already present. 

"Well, I want to." She said matter of factly. Which made you both blush even more than you two already had been. You two were blushing mess in each other's presence it was insane. 

"Oh my gosh, can you let me get ready without you trying to seduce me, at least once?" You both laughed while you tried to hurry up and get ready before Caitlin's eyes literally made you explode. She went to blow dry and straighten her hair before finding her resting place on the bed, watching you. "Okay! I'm done, my love." You said, sliding on your sandals before grabbing your purse that Caitlin was already holding out for you. 

Mumbling a thank you, Caitlin grabbed her matching blazer to her shorts and followed you out of the room and to the car. She stole the kiss she was waiting for before opening the door for you to get in.

[sanguineterrain]

okay i've had this thought brewing for a while and i think you're the only writer who would do it justice!

reader meets jason again post-lazarus pit and he's amazed by how different reader is look-wise. reader was a teenager the last time they saw jason and now as an adult they've gotten a more "adult" body. reader is curvier, fleshier, no longer as lean as they were as a teen and is a bit self conscious about their body. but it drives jason wild to see his old crush all grown up into this mature body, hell he's changed a lot too. but yeah i feel like jason would be so body positive and full of praise 🩷

decided to combine this with a request i got for this prompt: 8) we share the bed because this is what we’ve done since we were kids, regardless of the adult implications now. i so agree with you anon, i think jason would be simultaneously body positive and absolutely FERAL for his old/current crush ;)

jason todd x gn!plus-sized!reader. reader used to work with the bats and is best friends with jayjay. reader is insecure and speaks poorly about their body. jason does NOT like that and desires you carnally! wahoo! suggestive content but no outright smut.

****

You haven't been in Jason's room in five years.

Alfred's kept it pretty much the same. Same books on the shelves, same Gotham Knights sweatshirt Dick gave Jason for his birthday. The curtains are the same shade of maroon, and the left one has a tear from when you played with a batarang. Jason had covered for you and was grounded for a week.

You flip through a dog-eared copy of The Three Musketeers. A few of the pages have underlining in pencil. You trace them with your finger.

The door creaks open. You look up.

Jason freezes in the threshold. His wrist is bandaged and you can see stitches on his forehead. You frown.

"Hey." You set down the book and go to him, offering your shoulder for him to lean on. "You okay?"

Jason sighs, ignoring your shoulder. "Who called you?"

"What d'you mean? We're psychically linked, Jay-Jay. I sensed that there was trouble afoot in Gotham City."

"Uh-huh. That didn't work when you tried to convince the old man I needed a puppy because you psychically divined that it knew me in a previous life."

"You and that Terrier were soulmates and I'll hear nothing of the contrary."

You take Jason's arm, despite his protests that he can make it two feet to the bed. He lays down, trying to hide how his arm twinges in pain. You frown and slip in beside him.

Jason's a lot bigger than he was the last time you shared a bed. Well. You both are. You roll over so you're facing him, squished against his side. You pull your leg up, suddenly self-conscious about everything Jason might be able to see.

Jason is warm. He's warm and big and solid and good God, you've missed him.

Your best friend is also fucking gorgeous and you really want to kiss him, but, uh. Ignoring that. You're very practiced at ignoring the urge to kiss Jason.

"Thanks for comin'."

The light is still on, casting a soft orange glow across Jason's features. He glances at you, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. You can count all the freckles on his nose, this close.

"I'll always come when you call, Jay," you say. "Well, when Dickie calls. Said you got a concussion."

He turns his head, sighing at the ceiling. "'S not a big deal. Mild concussion. Leslie said I'll be fine in a week, but we all know that's code for two days."

"Yeah, I don't think so. You bats really are birds of a feather."

"How dare you. 'M nothing like those wackos."

"Sure, buddy. Keep lying to yourself. You brought me in all those years ago for a little normalcy."

"My mistake," Jason says.

He gets thwacked with a pillow for that. It fluffs his curls. He grins at you.

You tuck in closer, resting your chin on his uninjured shoulder. Jason turns his head so his cheek rests on the top of your head.

"You can have the bed," he says.

"Don't be a silly goose."

"'M gonna go home anyway."

You scoff. "Not like this, you're not."

"Been worse for wear."

You roll your eyes. "How are you gonna ride your bike with one arm and one leg, genius?"

"Please, babe. The real question is how will I sneak past Alfred?"

"I'm a babe, now?"

Jason half-smiles. "Always were."

"Liar. Can you imagine me in a Batsuit again? Exactly, you can't. I simply don't have the bod for it."

"Hey." Jason reaches down and gently pinches your thigh. "Why ya doin' that?"

"Doing what?"

"Talkin' bad about yourself. Don't do that. 'Sides, it ain't true."

"Jaybird." You level him with a look. "Be serious. I know you're my best friend and you have to say that, but c'mon. I've seen the hotties you work with. Hell, I've seen Bruce and Dickie."

Jason's face twists in disgust. "Do not call my dad and brother hot."

"Okay, fine. I've seen you."

His brows rise. "What?"

"What, what?"

"Are you... callin' me..."

You snort. "Duh. Have you seen yourself? You've always been cute, Jason. If you didn't have the demeanor of a honey badger, you'd be fending off marriage proposals left and right from the Gotham public. You've always been the prettier one, Jay-Jay."

Jason's quiet. You keep going.

"Anyway, neon's never been my color, and it seems like that's a pretty immovable requirement these days. Like, I get Clark's trying to be seen from space but he doesn't get bloated. And the Spandex? Goodness gracious—"

"Y'really see yourself like that?"

Jason's staring at you with a wrinkled brow, mouth set.

"Like what?"

"Like you're not pretty? Like I'm too good for ya?"

You prop your head up on your arm. "You've always been too good for me, Jason Todd."

"That's just not true. And you're fuckin' beautiful, so stop sayin' that shit."

You blink. "Jay, c'mon—"

"No. It's true, so stop. You're the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure to know, and if anybody's gettin' proposed to, it's you."

"Jason." Your face is on fire. Why did you open your mouth? "Stop. It's fine. So I'm different; my body's changed and shit. I'm not an athletic vigilante anymore. My thighs have, like, their own zip code. It's my own fault. I didn't keep up the training and whaa—!"

In one fluid motion, Jason's rolled you onto him. Your legs straddle his waist. You catch yourself on his shoulders, then begin to scramble off, burning with embarrassment.

"Sorry, I'm heavy, you're injured—" you babble, picking up your leg.

"Will you quit?" Jason keeps your leg exactly where it is, tenderly stroking your ankle with his thumb. "Actin' like I'm made of whipped cream."

"You're concussed."

"Mildly."

"Stop, Jason. Please. You don't have to do this to-to prove a point. I get it, I won't talk bad about myself."

Bit hypocritical, considering some of the stuff you know for a fact Jason believes about himself.

But this is humiliating, your extremely attractive, crime-fighting best friend pretending that you haven't totally let yourself go all to bolster your ego.

"Nah, I don't think you get it," Jason says conversationally. His hand creeps under your shirt. You squirm. "I really, really don't think you get how fuckin' gone I am for ya."

"Huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Now, that's my fault, never sayin' anything. I was being cowardly. So lemme make it clear for ya, sweetheart."

His hand leaves your ankle and pulls your face to his. And then Jason kisses you.

"You're concussed," you whimper against his mouth. "Jason, you're—"

Jason laughs, low and sweet. He strokes the side of your face. "I could have amnesia and I wouldn't forget the fact that I've been in love with my best friend since I was fourteen."

"Are you sure you don't want me to move? I can—"

"No way. Y'know how long I've wanted you on me? Shit, I sound like a creep, thinking 'bout you like that, but—"

Jason rolls you both onto your sides. He hefts your leg over his, so you're slotted between each other. Then he kisses your neck, mouth hot and desperate. You gasp, belly swooping.

How long have you wanted this? How long did you believe you'd never feel this way about another person after Jason?

"I can promise you," Jason says, breathing hard against your skin. "You're a knockout. You knock me out. And I'll knock out anyone who says otherwise."

You huff and get a little braver, kissing Jason and returning him onto his back. He grins, sharp and hungry. He wants you. There's no doubt.

"I still think you're concussed," you murmur, letting him feel up your shirt. "But lucky for you, I have the utmost sympathy for poor, bedridden Bats."

Jason hums, grunting when your teeth scrape his ear. "Oh, I've always known I was the lucky one, having you."

[beskarandblasters]

Doves in the Wind

Modern/Best Friend’s Brother!Oberyn Martell x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Oberyn Martell Masterlist

For @pedgito and @chaotic-mystery’s Summer Lovin Writing Challenge!

Summary: You’re away for your best friend Elia’s wedding but you can’t keep your hands off of her brother, Oberyn, finding a moment to sneak away during the rehearsal dinner.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, modern AU, secret established relationship, fingering, neck biting/kissing, semi public sex, vaginal sex, cum eating, pet names (dove), reader gets a hickey but there’s no mention of the color/appearance, no use of y/n

You’re celebrating your best friend, Elia’s, wedding at a beautiful destination by the beach. You’re sitting at the rehearsal dinner, making small talk with her fiancé, Rhaegar’s, family. But whenever your eyes wander they always land on Oberyn, Elia’s brother. You’ve had a secret on and off again relationship with him for two years now, somehow managing to hide it from Elia. But now that she’s getting married, you feel it’s a good time to break it off much to his dismay. The logic doesn’t quite make sense but you can’t keep a secret from your best friend forever and he knows that. 

His gaze locks with yours, brown eyes filled with lust. His lips curl into a smirk and the look in his eyes shifts as if he’s trying to send you a message. You know what he’s insinuating. He wants to run off to someplace private. But how? It’s the rehearsal dinner. You’re part of the wedding party. It’s not like you can sneak out now. 

You furrow your brow and frown, hoping he’ll get the message– Not now. 

But his eyes plead with yours, wide like a baby cow. That’s it. You’re done for. He just knows how to melt in an instant. He gets up from the table, slipping out of the room wordlessly. You know what to do. You just have to wait a bit so it doesn’t look so obvious. But your desire for him is so strong you’re sure everyone here can feel it reverberating off of you. You take the napkin on your lap and toss it on the table, swiftly getting up from your chair and making a beeline for the beach. He always loved the beach. It’s the only place dark enough for your secret affair at this hour. 

The wind catches your dress, fabric swaying in the gentle breeze rolling off the waves as you walk. Knowing him he’s stowed away in the private cabanas. You step over the rope separating them from the public beach and peel back the curtains, revealing him standing there. He gravitates to your waist, looking like a god standing before you in his mustard-colored suit. The first few buttons of his shirt are left undone, exposing a bit of his check. You bite your lip at the thought of marking his skin, claiming him as your own. 

“This is a terrible idea…” you trail off, looking out at the dark sea. 

“But dove, it’s a human thing… wanting what you can’t have.” He grabs your chin, directing your gaze back to him. He knows that the longer you look at him the more likely you are to fold. 

“This has to be the last time, Oberyn.”

“You say that every time.”

“It’s different now and you know that.” 

“How? How is it any different?” 

“Because Elia’s getting married… I feel like I’m betraying her,” you explain, starting to get worked up. He pulls you in close, strong arms wrapped around you as you engulf your scent. 

“Stop worrying so much, dove.” 

You don’t respond, clutching on him and fighting the urge to have a meltdown. 

“I’m going to ask you a question, dove. And I want you to answer honestly.”

“Okay.”

“Do you love me?”

You do. Undoubtedly you do. You’ve never been so sure about anything in your life. 

“Yes,” you admit. 

“Then prove it to me. Forget about everything else and just be here with me.” 

He sinks his teeth into your neck, hands roaming up and down your outline as he nips your skin. You moan, closing your eyes and letting yourself melt into his touch. It doesn’t take long for you to dance between pushing and pulling each other to the couch in the cabana. He sits with his thighs spread wide, cock straining against the fabric of his suit. The wind tousles his hair and he looks up at you with more adoration than there are stars in the sky. 

“You’re breathtaking, dove. I need you already.” 

You slip off your panties underneath your dress and straddle his lap. You place your hands on his shoulders as he hikes up your dress, exposing your thighs for his large hands to caress. Your cunt rubs against his bulge, desperate for him to be inside you already. 

You think about the rehearsal dinner, about all the watchful eyes in that crowded room. You think about who’s going to notice you’re both missing first. You think about the speech you have to make soon. And you just—

But you’re putty in his hands the moment he plays with your pussy, fingers teasing your delicate entrance. Your desire for him is too strong to worry about anything else. He pulls his hand away to bring it to his mouth, licking his fingers and getting them slick for you. He gently inserts his pointer finger into your warmth, making a come here motion against your walls. You moan, throwing your head back in pleasure but he grabs your chin again, forcing you to look at him as he pleasures you. 

“Eyes on me, dove. I want to see that pretty face you make when you cum.”

You rock your hips into his hand, looking deep into his eyes as his lips curl into a devilish grin. He adds a second finger, the newfound thickness expanding your entrance. You’ll cum soon. You just know it. He knows all the ways to reduce you down to a whimpering mess in no time. 

He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing small circles around it as his fingers inside you work you up to the edge. The tension in your core finally explodes, soft cries echoing out into the night sky. You quickly stifle them, remembering that anyone could be lurking around the beach, that anyone from the rehearsal dinner could be looking for you. But Oberyn says, “Hey now, I want to hear your sweet sounds.”

“But what if-”

“Don’t care.”

“What if someone hears?”

“Let them,” he says simply, pulling his fingers from you and popping them in his mouth. He moans at the taste, closing his eyes as he licks your spend. “Always so sweet.”

He reaches for his belt, hastily undoing it before pulling his cock out. It’s already impossibly hard, pre-cum spilling out from the slit on the head. It glistens under the moonlight, begging for you to sit on it already. 

“Fuck,” you curse, watching it twitch his hands. 

“It’s yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Without a doubt.”

You can’t help yourself around him, inching forward and sitting on his cock in one swift move. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, reaching forward and spanking your ass as you rock your hips back and forth. Your grip on his shoulders tightens, using them as leverage as you fuck yourself on his cock. He sings words of praise, telling you how beautiful you are, how you’re such a good girl for him, how perfect you feel. 

The ambient sound of waves crashing on the shore does its best to drown out your moans. But it’s hard when he’s making you feel this good. Your entire body is sent into a state of euphoria as your second orgasm draws near. The tension in your core threatens to burst at any moment. And when it does it’s nothing short of perfect. The movement of your hips grows sloppy as you ride out your high, eventually slowing to a stop before you remember that he needs to cum, too. And he’s most likely holding on by a thread. 

You scramble off of him and kneel, quickly whispering, “Not on my makeup!” before opening your mouth. 

He groans and says, “Gotta keep up appearances,” before coming in your mouth. You swallow his salty and warm spend, impressed that he didn’t get any on your face. He reaches forward and caresses your face. You close your eyes at his touch. You want nothing more than to spend alone time here with him, listening to the gentle waves, watching them break on the shore. But that isn’t your reality. And you’re surely late for your speech by now. 

You stand up and smooth down your dress, already feeling your wetness run down your thigh. 

“I’ll go first,” you say as he puts his cock back in his pants. “How do I look?”

“Beautiful,” he says in a strained voice, almost with a sad quality to it. 

“I’ll see you back in there,” you nod, stepping over the rope and speed-walking back to the restaurant. 

Elia’s mom greets you in a rush, telling you, “You’re just in time for your speech! We were looking all over for you!”

“Good timing,” you sigh. 

“Have you seen Oberyn?”

“…I haven’t.”

She goes to say something else but you quickly interject, “Let me just go freshen up while we wait for him.”

“Okay. But don’t be too long!” she says. 

You quickly head to the bathroom where you look over your appearance. All to reveal that you have a ginormous hickey on your neck. 

Fuck. 

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Dividers: @cyberangel-graphics

MDNI/Support banners: @saradika-graphics

Beta readers: @pedgito and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Beginnings Part 2

Part 1

A properly written version of these Paris Olympics headcanons. Gale is on the U.S. equestrian eventing team, Bucky is a U.S. gymnast, and they meet on the plane to Paris.

Author's note: Part 2 because brevity is not my strong suit!!!

---

Crazy. He’s crazy. He’s fucking crazy. 

That’s all Gale can think as he approaches the dining hall around 4:00 that afternoon. He keeps nervously running a hand through his hair and then frantically trying to fix it again, not wanting to look like too much of a mess for this… thing. That he isn’t sure is a date. Or not.

On his way to the dining hall, he realized belatedly that there’s a bit of grain staining his shirt sleeve, courtesy of Whiskey begging him for ear scratches while she finished her feed. He was already a few minutes late, and going back to his room to change was not an option. So he stepped into one of the bathrooms in the village and dabbed at it frantically with water, trying to get it out, but eventually resigned himself to the fact that he’s just destined to make a fool of himself. Luckily it’s only a small spot on the back of the sleeve. With any luck, it’ll go unnoticed. 

He can’t believe he’s doing this. That’s the theme of today, and it will continue to be the theme of today. He almost wonders if it’s actually happening. If he and John actually agreed to wander around together in lieu of doing it with any of their existing friends. But they’d remembered to exchange numbers this time, and there is no doubting the text on his phone that says ‘I’m outside the dining hall! See you soon!’ with a little smiley face emoji at the end. It makes Gale’s chest feel funny. 

“Buck!”

Gale turns his head to see Bucky standing by a bench outside the dining hall, and Gale waves, willing his heart rate to calm the fuck down. “Hey! You’re here.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him as he approaches, and he holds his hands out to the sides. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“No, I just…” Gale shakes his head at himself. “I’m glad you’re here.” He’s blowing this already, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind.

“Looks like I’m not the only one that stained your shirt today,” Bucky muses, reaching out to tug at the back of Gale’s shirt sleeve.

“Whiskey,” Gale says by way of explanation. Then he rushes to add, “The horse. Not… not like the alcohol.”

Bucky lets go of the sleeve, smoothing it back down over Gale’s bicep. “I know.”

“I didn’t have time to change. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“Well.” Gale motions ahead of them, towards the Seine across the road from the dining hall. “Shall we?”

They set off in a random direction along the water, suddenly very aware of the fact that neither of them know where they’re going. They turn away from the river after a few minutes, wander past a few training facilities, run across the road in front of a bus that honks loudly at them, find out exactly which buildings they have the clearance to access. They grab an early dinner of ‘artisan’ sandwiches at one of the cafes, and Gale laughs when Bucky accidentally drops his last bite on the ground and is immediately swarmed by pigeons. They stop to take pictures – both genuine and silly – at multiple Olympic logo statues, and Bucky fights the urge to post a photo of them together on his social media, not yet ready to invite that kind of media storm. It’s nice, in a way. Just getting to exist with a person without worrying about the press. Even if it can only last a day. The media will be all over him again as soon as podium training starts, and he knows Gale will have his fair share of reporters after him with his events coming up right after opening ceremonies. 

But for an afternoon, they don’t have to be Olympic athletes. They don’t have to worry about medals or training or their image. They can just be together, enjoy the company, enjoy the beautiful, blue-sky day. It’s so simple, a few hours spent walking around aimlessly with someone he just met, but it gives Bucky a sense of calm that doesn’t normally exist within him.

By about 7pm, they find themselves in some bar not far from the Olympic Village, promising to themselves that they’ll be proper tourists and take the city by storm another day. As they weave their way through the crowd, hearing a babbling mix of different languages that drowns out any actual intelligible words, Gale trails behind Bucky towards the bar. A young, attractive bartender greets them as they snag two empty seats.

Gale turns toward Bucky and leans in, cheek to cheek, so Bucky can hear. “What do you want?”

“Oh, uh,” Bucky stammers, thrown off. “Whiskey?”

Gale nods and motions to the bartender. “Puis-je avoir un verre de whiskey pour mon ami, et… ah, un French soixante-quinze, s’il vous plaît.”

Bucky’s brain stops working. Suddenly all he can do is stare at Gale’s face and watch as he leans on the bartop, nodding and smiling at the bartender.

The bartender is smiling back. “Avec du cognac ou du gin?”

Gale tilts his head. “Que recommandez-vous?”

The bartender presses his hands against the bar top, leaning in close, conspiratorially. “Le cognac.”

“Ah oui, je veux ça.” Gale nods and grins at the bartender again. They continue speaking back and forth using what are probably words but to Bucky sounds like pretty, cursive gibberish. He recognizes that twinkling look in the bartender’s eyes, the suggestive upturn at the corner of his mouth, the way he leans too much on the bartop in an attempt to be close, friendly. He’s flirting with Gale, quite shamelessly. Bucky just can’t quite figure out if Gale is flirting back.

So Bucky does what any rational person would do when the near-stranger they're crushing on is getting flirted with by someone else. He leans in close to Gale, getting his attention, and he reaches a hand up to gently stroke a loose strand of hair back off of his forehead. He pushes every ounce of sweetness and softness he can into his smile so that Gale focuses those pretty eyes on him instead. The bartender takes the hint and goes about preparing their drinks.

“Jealous?” Gale asks lowly as he turns around on his bar stool, so he’s leaning back against the counter. Bucky doesn’t really answer, just makes a noncommittal huffing sort of noise. Gale shakes his head. “You barely know me, John.”

Bucky shrugs, leaning against the bartop. “I know enough.” He hesitates over his next words, but what the hell. “I want to know you.” Gale takes a deep breath that settles into a smile, and Bucky knows he didn’t fuck up even as Gale looks straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. “What did you just say to him?”

“I ordered you a whiskey, and myself a French 75. He asked if I wanted cognac or gin, I asked what he would recommend, he said cognac, and I said I’d take that. And then he asked if I wanted to hook up when he got off work.” Gale looks casually over at Bucky, who is not making any attempt to hide the alarm on his face, and he chuckles. “I’m kidding. He just asked if I’m here for the Games, and we talked a bit about that.”

“He totally wanted to hook up with you though.”

“Did he?” Gale shrugs and looks out over the crowd of people filling the room.

“How did you not notice?”

“I’m already here with someone else who I can’t take my eyes off of.”

As Gale levels a suggestive look back on him again, Bucky wills himself not to blush. He knows he fails. “I didn’t know you spoke French.”

“Oui,” Gale teases. The bartender sets a glass of whiskey down in front of Bucky, and then hands Gale his cocktail. Gale’s attention is all on Bucky now though. “Est-ce que tu aimes ça?”

Bucky takes a shaky breath before sipping his drink, looking at Gale over the rim of his glass. “I don’t know what you just asked me, but yes.”

Gale laughs and lifts his glass to his mouth, lets the taste of the cognac and champagne linger on his tongue. He looks back at Bucky, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of him. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

“Is that good or bad?” Bucky asks. His voice sounds confident, full of suggestion, but inside he’s teetering on an edge, waiting to see if Gale’s going to push him off or drag him up.

“Mmm.” Gale takes another sip, lets Bucky stew in silence, as if he has to think about it. Then the corner of his mouth pulls up in that way that Bucky is coming to love, and he says, “it’s good.”

So Bucky leans towards him, grabs the hair at the back of his head, and he kisses him. The taste of whiskey collides with notes of cognac and lemon, smokey and sweet. He kisses Gale in a way that he’s rarely kissed anyone else before: gentle and wanting, asking and taking, soft and smooth like a love song. And Gale lets him.

The night goes by in a haze after that, full of laughter and stories and casual touches. They both order a second drink and toast to the Games. It feels like they could talk forever, and it would still never be enough. John has never in his life believed in soulmates, but he also can’t come up with a better explanation for the way Gale Cleven just casually wandered into his life, flashing a smile and booking a rent-free stay in his mind like he was simply coming home.

John Egan never really thought he was the type of person someone could find a home in. But maybe he could be. 

When Gale’s phone rings in the middle of their maybe-probably-definitely-date, he mutters something by way of apology and accepts the call. “Hi Marge.”

“Benny says you’re not in your room. And you’re not with me. So where are you?”

“I’m fine, how are you?” Gale replies. He can hear Marge rolling her eyes.

“Gale, where are you?”

“I’m out. With a friend.” His eyes dart over to Bucky, who is making a show of not listening in too much.

“All your friends are here with me,” Marge counters. “So… how does that work?”

“I’m… with John?”

He hears her take a deep breath, can picture her nodding and putting her head in her hand. “The gymnast. Seriously Gale, you went out with the gymnast?”

“You told me to be social,” he points out.

“That’s not what- okay, you know what. Fine. That’s fine. Good job. Gold star.”

He tilts his head back with a fond smile. “Marge, I’m a big boy. I can go out if I wanna go out.”

“I know-” she pauses. “You’re not sober, are you?”

This almost makes Gale laugh. Almost. Marge knows him too well, can parse out nearly everything he’s thinking and feeling from his voice alone. “Mmm, almost. Mostly. I’m not drunk if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I know you’re not drunk, you idiot. You don’t get drunk.” This is true. 

“I’m fine, Marge. I’m good, actually. John’s… I don’t know. I’m having fun. He’s… well, he’s amazing.” He looks at Bucky again, and this time his eyes are locked right onto Gale. He looks pleased, as if no one has ever said that about him before, which Gale knows is definitely not true. What he doesn’t know is that Bucky has never particularly cared if people like him or not, never cared what they said about him. Until now.

Marge sighs. “Just be safe, okay? Don’t… don’t do anything stupid. I know you won’t but I have to say it anyway. And don’t have unprotected sex!”

“Marge!”

“And I want to meet him.”

“Goodbye, Marge!”

“Love ya babe.”

Gale hangs up the phone in exasperation, and when he looks up again, Bucky is stifling a laugh. “Girlfriend?” he asks, and he’s only half joking.

Gale shakes his head emphatically. “God, no. I love Marge, but not like that.”

“She’s on the jumping team, right?” Bucky remembers reading about her. Gale, Benny, and Marjorie. The three young hotshots on the U.S. equestrian team, all from the same training facility.

Gale stirs the remains of his drink, listening to the ice cubes clink against the glass. “Yeah. We grew up together, actually.”

“She sounds like a good friend.”

“She is. But I don’t wanna think about her right now.” Then Gale leans over and kisses Bucky again, short and sweet. When he pulls away, Bucky wishes he wouldn’t, even though they’re in the middle of a crowded bar.

He asks Gale if he wants another drink. Gale politely refuses. “I don’t drink much,” he confides. 

Bucky starts to nod; they are Olympic athletes, after all. But then he pauses, squinting at Gale like he’s trying to calculate exactly what those words mean. “You don’t drink much,” he repeats slowly. “But your horse is named after alcohol?”

Gale laughs, and Bucky momentarily wants nothing more than to make that happen again. “She’s named after a plane that my great grandfather flew in World War II,” Gale explains. “Hundred Proof.”

And why does that make all the sense in the world? Everything Gale says makes Bucky fall a little more. “That’s… unexpected. And amazing.”

Gale looks pleased in that way that he only seems to when talking about his horse. “A special name for a special mare.”

And a special guy, Bucky thinks.

Even so, the drinks Gale did have were strong, and he can feel it in his head, in the way the world takes just a fraction of a second too long to catch up when he turns around. He’s on that edge where the alcohol is still making him pleasantly relaxed, but it’s almost to the point of reminding him of things he’d rather forget. Plus, he has to be up early tomorrow, and he’s sure Bucky does, too. Bucky must see something on his face, some sort of discomfort or unease, because he puts a hand on the small of his back, stilling him as he looks him in the eye. “Wanna head back?”

Gale nods. “Yeah, yeah sure.” And then Bucky is grabbing his hand, and Gale’s foggy brain spends too long focusing on how big Bucky’s hand is, how it nearly engulfs his own. He thinks about what hands like that could do and it makes him shiver before he chastises himself for wandering so far.

“You okay?” Bucky is looking back over his shoulder at him, a concerned little smile teasing at the corners of his mouth, and yeah, Gale is okay. This whole day has been wildly outside of his comfort zone, and yet he feels okay. John Egan feels safe, somehow. And Gale wants to wrap himself up in that feeling.

He nods again. “I’m good.”

–

It’s 10pm, and outside, the sun is just setting over Paris. “I can’t get used to that,” Bucky muses. “Sunset is so late here.”

Gale looks at him, and he finds that he can’t look away. “It’s beautiful, though,” he says, and he wonders if Bucky knows he isn’t just talking about the sun.

As darkness falls over them, they half stumble their way back to the Olympic Village. Neither of them are drunk, but they are just this side of tipsy. And they can’t stop talking and laughing as they try to figure out where the heck they are and how to get back to their little apartments. They’re still hanging off of each other, like it never occurred to either of them to let go.

“That one!” Bucky yells, pointing enthusiastically towards a building to their left.

Gale pulls back on his hand though, shaking his head. “No, it’s not the right color.”

Bucky stops and tilts his head, squinting at it even though it’s dark now and there’s no way squinting is gonna help. “You sure?”

“Yeah, our building is white. We need to go closer to the river.”

Gale is right. Their building is right on the Seine, and it is, in fact, white. By the time they find it, it’s nearing 11pm. They stop outside of Bucky’s door, hands locked together as they stare at each other like awkward teenagers after a first date. “I guess this is goodnight, then,” Gale says hesitantly. 

Bucky shrugs, uncertain, but then he shoves out the next few words before he loses his nerve. “You could come in.”

“Aren’t you sharing a room with Curt?”

Bucky smirks, darting his tongue over his lower lip, and the way Gale clocks that movement is very satisfying to him. “Curt’s not gonna be back for a while yet. Trust me.” Bucky has absolutely no idea where the guy went, and he’s not sure he wants to know. All he knows is that Curt told him he’d be out late, so if he wanted to bring his little blonde horseback rider back home with him, that would be alright. Bucky punched him in the arm, and Curt insisted he was just doing his duty as wingman. That and he legitimately wasn’t going to be back until late anyways.

“Alright then,” Gale whispers, and the way his voice goes all deep is enough to make Bucky practically drag him through the door.

Bucky’s room is pretty much the exact same as Gale’s. That is, minimal. Small, with white walls and wood floors, basic furniture including an open wardrobe and some shelves. And, of course, Paris 2024 comforters spread over top of two of those cardboard, anti-sex beds that everyone has heard so much about. For sustainability, the Olympic committee said, as the “intimacy ban” from Tokyo has supposedly been lifted. Right. Bucky, however, knows for a fact that such a ban didn’t really work anyways.

“Cozy,” Gale quips as the door closes behind them.

“They like to make us feel special,” Bucky agrees sarcastically, tugging on Gale’s hand again to pull him closer.

Gale lets himself be pulled forward, so he and Bucky are almost nose to nose. “Wouldn’t want us thinking too highly of ourselves.”

Bucky tilts his head and looks down at Gale. Gale has never in his life felt short or small in any way, but Bucky is a good couple inches taller than him and has quite a bit more bulk. When Bucky wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him even closer, though, Gale thinks he likes it. And Bucky is completely obsessed with the way Gale is blinking up at him, his lips parted, watching Bucky like he’s a puzzle he wants to solve.

“I think pretty highly of you,” Bucky murmurs. Then he kisses Gale again, slow and sensual and nothing like he’s used to. But it feels right somehow.

Gale pulls away and looks down at his feet, putting a hand on each of Bucky’s rock-solid biceps. 

“Is this okay?” Bucky asks him.

Gale looks back up at him and bites his lower lip with a breathy laugh. He can’t believe he’s doing this. Letting himself be propositioned by someone he just met at the Paris Olympics. Benny and Marge will have a field day if they find out. Gale himself can’t quite sort out how he got here. All he knows is he doesn’t care; he wants this. So he nods and says, “definitely.”

Then he pushes Bucky back against the wall and… wow. Bucky isn’t used to that. It’s usually the other way around for him. He finds himself gasping as Gale’s surprisingly strong hands grip his shoulders, as soft lips find his own. He can feel the cold wall through the back of his shirt, but he focuses on the warmth radiating from Gale’s body pressed against his and lets his hands settle on Gale’s slim waist as he relaxes into the kiss.

Gale pulls away and Bucky tries to follow, but he opens his eyes to see Gale looking at him, pupils blown wide. “You know,” Gale says. “Part of the reason I flirted with that bartender was to see if you’d care.”

So he admits it. He was flirting. “I cared,” Bucky tells him.

“I know.”

Bucky nuzzles Gale’s neck, nipping at the fragile skin, and he relishes the way it makes Gale’s breath catch. “Is that okay? That I cared?”

Gale tilts his head ever so slightly, giving Bucky better access, and Bucky thinks he has his answer. But he wants to hear it. “I liked it,” Gale confesses. “And I liked the way you touched my hair, too.”

Bucky pulls back so he can look Gale in the eye again, and he reaches a tentative hand up toward the side of Gale’s face, where a wayward strand of blonde hair has fallen down over his forehead, right above his eye. With gentle fingertips, Bucky brushes the strand back, just like he did in the bar, and it makes Gale’s cheeks flush as he averts his eyes, looking down at Bucky’s other hand firmly holding his waist.

“Like that?” Bucky asks. Then his fingers trace a line to the back of Gale’s head, where he twines them in soft hair and grips it experimentally, urging Gale to lift his head again. He presses their lips together and bites gently at Gale’s lower lip, swallows the gasp that follows. “Or like that?” He whispers against the corner of Gale’s mouth.

“Tout ça,” Gale says quietly. All of it.

Bucky puts both hands on Gale’s waist again and spins him around, so they’ve swapped places. Gale now pressed between Bucky’s body and the wall, Bucky kissing him with more passion than Gale’s ever been kissed with before. 

“Do that again,” Bucky growls as he tugs at the hem of Gale’s shirt with insistent hands. 

Gale lets him pull it up, over his head. “Oh? Ça te plaît?” The shirt drops to the floor at their feet and immediately Bucky’s hands are back on him, running up and down his sides, exploring his chest and abdomen and the small of his back with a desperate curiosity. 

“À votre tour. Allez,” Gale grunts, tugging at Bucky’s shirt. “Only fair.”

Bucky obliges and pulls away just briefly to pull his shirt off, letting it join Gale’s on the wood floor below. He sighs deeply when Gale’s hands touch his bare skin, gliding gently over his broad shoulders, his biceps, his back. “I want to look at you,” Bucky whispers.

He takes a step back, his fingertips tracing down over Gale’s arm as he pulls away until only their fingers are brushing, keeping them linked together. He inhales deeply as he takes in the sight of the man he’s so readily invited into his world. This perfect, perfect person. Piercing blue eyes analyzing him, messy blonde hair just begging to be pulled, rock solid abs and strong shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, where Bucky’s hands have decided they belong.

“My god, Gale, you’re…” He doesn’t have the words.

“Parfait,” Gale breathes, eyes roaming up and down Bucky’s body. Strong and imposing, nothing but well-trained muscle, equally messy dark curls that Gale wants to feel between his fingers, the broadest shoulders he’s ever seen up close. Everything about Bucky’s body screams power, and yet everything about how he looks at Gale, how he touches him, is affectionate.

Gale rushes forward, letting his fingers grip Bucky’s soft hair as he kisses him, hard. Their hands can’t get enough of each other, touching everywhere they can find. Bucky stops him, though, when Gale pushes him towards the bed.

“No,” he pants. “It won’t hold our weight. Trust me.”

Gale quirks an eyebrow at him, amused. “Make a habit of bringing athletes into your room?”

“Just once,” Bucky admits, leaning in again to suck at Gale’s collarbone. “I was young and stupid,” he mutters.

“And now?” Gale asks, his hand on the back of Bucky’s head, urging him to keep doing that.

Bucky laughs against his skin. “Might still be stupid, but the decision to bring you here sure wasn’t.” Spending time with Gale today was quite possibly the least stupid thing he’d ever done. “Hold on,” he murmurs. He’s tired of this standing against walls business.

He slips out of Gale’s hold and grabs the thin comforter off his bed, laying it out on the hard floor. Then he takes both of Gale’s hands in his and guides him down, until they’re both on the floor with the comforter underneath them. Bucky’s back is pressed against the cardboard base of the bed, Gale effectively in his lap, straddling him.

Gale presses forward and nips at Bucky’s ear, at his neck, at his jaw. Bucky’s head is spinning from the feeling of Gale’s bare skin under his hands and against his chest. Gale has an absolute fascination with Bucky’s shoulders, unable to keep himself from running his hands over them again and again, his fingernails scraping gently across them and making Bucky shiver. They’re grinding against each other now, and they both feel dizzy from the pleasure.

Bucky starts working at Gale’s belt, trying to get it off, but that’s when Gale pulls away. Bucky worries he pushed too much, but Gale has that soft half-smile on his face. “Hey now,” he says gruffly. “Buy a guy dinner first, why don’t you?”

And seriously, the way Gale’s eyes are twinkling at him like that and the way his soft hair is already a mess just from Bucky running his hands through it over and over, the way this man makes Bucky’s heart beat too fast, too fast, too fast the entire time they’re together… He can’t stand it and he never wants it to end.

So he pulls his hands away from the belt, puts one back on Gale’s hip and the other on his cheek and says, “Tomorrow. I’ll take you for dinner tomorrow.”

Gale nods, pleased, and kisses him again, rough and beautiful and better than anything Bucky has ever experienced before. And he knows that he’s already falling for Gale Cleven. Has been since the plane.

It’s going to be one hell of an Olympics.

[acearcane]

June of Doom, Day 20

"I can handle it." | Scrape | Panic Attack | Neglect

@juneofdoom

Word count: 2718 Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV) Content warnings: Brief passive suicidal ideation, language

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56801968

I Don't Know Why I Bite

Five woke with the taste of ash on his tongue.

He shot upright, narrowly avoiding braining himself on the underside of the top bunk. His breath came in short gasps, his body trembling violently. He curled his fingers into his scratchy blanket, his mind flying too fast to think.

Everytime he closed his eyes, the memories nipped at the back of his brain, carving fresh wounds into his mind.

Ash, settling across his shoulders like freshly fallen snow. Drifting into his eyes, biting and burning where it made contact. Coating the inside of his mouth, his tongue, and choking the back of his throat. Filling his lungs, until he couldn’t speak without coughing, blood splattering the hand he raised to his lips.

It was all he could see. All he could taste. All he could feel. The apocalypse had been a fire, the earth its fast-fading ember. Nothing left in the world, save himself and the endless sea of gray that crunched and shifted beneath his feet as he walked.

For you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

How long until he crumbled along with everything else he had known and loved?

Five rubbed anxious circles into his chest, desperately trying to slow the fluttering pace of his heart. His pulse surged in his eardrums, drowning out anything and everything, his vision flickering in the dim lightning of the room. He wasn’t there anymore; he had gotten out. He wasn’t there anymore; he was home, he was safe.

Or… however close to home he could be, after their last ill-planned attempt to escape the apocalypse.

Five fought the urge to cough, trying to reason with himself. He wasn’t choking. There wasn’t any smoke or ash. That taste, the one in the back of his throat… it was all in his head. His lungs were fine, mercifully replaced by the same accident that left him stranded in his younger body.

His heart rate began to slow, his breath evening out as the terror relinquished its claws from his chest. Five hugged his knees to his chest, letting the reality of his situation wash over him.

He was in a hotel-- Hotel Obsidian, if he was remembering correctly. One of Klaus’s old haunts. A predictably peculiar place, considering the brother that recommended it. Their home, the Academy… wasn’t gone, per say. Just under new management, ruled over by an angry batch of superhumans that called themselves ‘the Sparrow Academy’. The old man’s new pets, Five thought grimly. Good riddance; if he had to spend another second of his time trying to barter with that sardonic old meatbag, he might as well kill himself.

The apocalypse was over. They had escaped it once again. They were safe.

He wondered how long it would take for him to truly accept that.

Five kicked back the sheets, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The bunk above him creaked as Klaus rolled over in his sleep, murmuring something under his breath. Diego’s rattling snores rose from the futon where he had stretched himself out. And Luther… Five curled his lip. Whatever Luther had eaten for dinner clearly wasn’t agreeing with him.

The room suddenly felt suffocating, and not just because of the smell. It was too crowded, too hot. Five could hear his brothers, all breathing out of sync, and the sound made his skin prickle. He just needed a moment of fresh air. Sleep was out of the question anyway.

Grabbing his robe from where he’d draped it next to the bed, Five bundled up and made for the door. Careful not to wake his brothers, he eased the room door open and stepped out into the hall, his shoulders relaxing the moment the silence washed over him. Letting the door shut behind him, Five found that he could breathe easy again.

He paced down the hall, worrying with the sleeve of his bathrobe. His body still felt heavy with exhaustion, but his mind was moving too quickly to relax. He would’ve liked to sleep--Five couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full night’s rest--but the idea of slipping back into that wasteland was enough to keep him moving.

He could almost forget it from time to time, all of those years spent trapped in the apocalypse. When the problems in front of him consumed his vision, or when the heavy weight of liquor muddied his thoughts, Five could almost ignore the ghost in his mind. Then he would try to slow down, try to rest--whether by choice or by the harsh reality of his body giving out--and the apocalypse would rear its ugly head again, trying to drag him back into the nightmare from which he had barely escaped.

Five shuddered, struck by a sudden wave of dizziness. He gripped the wall, his heart speeding up again as the acrid tang of ash wormed its way back into his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ride out the wave of panic that washed over him.

I can handle it, he thought to himself, his inner voice tinged with desperation. It’ll be over in a minute.

He needed a drink. Something to slow his mind. Maybe if he drank enough, the alcohol would lull him into dreamless sleep, although he wasn’t sure if the hangover the next morning would be worth it.

More than anything, Five missed Delores. He missed having someone to talk to, someone to help him rationalize the fear that threatened to choke him. His siblings wouldn’t understand; they were too naive, too emotional. They’d get worried and patronizing, and that was the last thing Five wanted.

No, he wanted Delores. He needed Delores. He shouldn’t have left her, two timelines ago. Now she was gone, and no amount of wishful thinking would bring her back. Once again, Five’s lack of foresight had screwed him over. For someone who could jump through time itself, he found that he could be painfully nearsighted.

Five sank to the floor, his head cradled in his hands. God, he was so tired. His teenage body was heavy with exhaustion, throbbing from scrapes and bruises sustained in their earlier fights. He didn’t have the stamina he used to, even if he did have the vitality of youth. But everytime he tried to close his eyes, even to blink, a burnt-out landscape would flash through his mind's eye.

“Five?”

The soft voice jarred him out of his thoughts, and Five nearly broke his neck when he whipped around to see who had spoken.

Viktor stood a few feet away, still dressed in the same clothes he had left the 1960s in. He looked about as exhausted as Five felt, his freshly-cut hair tangled and mussed, dark circles carving half-moons under his eyes. He was hesitating visibly, as if he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to approach. It was sweet, Five had to admit, but the cynical part of him griped that Viktor was old enough to know to take initiative.

When Five didn’t respond, Viktor pressed, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Five shook his head slowly. “No.”

His brother seemed to take that as an invitation to join him. Slumping against the wall at his side, Viktor admitted softly. “Yeah, me neither.” He looked so tortured, his brown eyes glassy and unfocused, that Five couldn’t help but feel concerned.

“Do you miss…” Five trailed off, desperately wracking his brain for the woman’s name, “...Sissy?” He had met Viktor’s lover a grand total of once, but he could tell the blonde woman had meant a lot to his brother.

Viktor winced, his face clouding over. “I do,” he said with a wry chuckle. “Which is stupid, because I know it was safer for her to stay in 1963, but…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers together anxiously. His eyes flicked to Five, and he asked, “Are you okay, though?”

What an odd question. Five shrugged. Of course he was okay; he and his family were finally some semblance of safe, and they had managed to leave the apocalypse in the 1960s. Five was the most okay he had been in decades.

So why didn’t it feel quite right?

“I’m fine,” he answered after a few tense moments, staring down at his hands. He could almost swear there was still blood crusted beneath his fingernails, a final trophy from the Board’s massacre. Five swallowed, suddenly nauseous.

“Are you sure?” Viktor pressed, scooting closer to him. “Five… if… if you want to talk about it, I…”

“I’m fine, Viktor,” Five repeated, his voice mercifully stronger this time. “I… I just had a nightmare. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Five,” Viktor repeated gently, “You know you don’t have to go it alone, right? You can talk to us. You can talk to me.”

“Talk about what?” Five laughed incredulously. “My nightmare? I’m not a child, Viktor. It was just a dream; I’ll get over it.”

Viktor was studying him thoughtfully; Five could see an idea forming in his brother’s mind, and he didn’t like it. Leaning forward, Viktor asked, “Have you ever thought about seeing someone? Like, a therapist?”

Something about this conversation felt uncomfortably familiar. Five could almost remember Viktor saying something similar, the night Five had jumped back to 2019. “What, in the two weeks since I got back?” he snapped. “No, it hasn’t crossed my mind. Can’t really say I had time for it, what with trying to stop the apocalypse and saving your sorry asses. Why do you ask?”

“Everything you went through…” Viktor furrowed his brow, searching for the right words. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re carrying a lot with you. You know you don’t have to do that, right?  You don’t have to be miserable all the time.”

Five bristled. “If you’re trying to scold me for being an asshole-”

“I’m not!” Viktor cut him off, his voice tipping up defensively. “I promise I’m not. God, I’m too tired for this-” he paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I mean, if you’re hurting, you don’t have to keep hurting. It’s not weak to get help.”

Preposterous. That sounded immensely weak to Five. He had never had time for feelings, ironically enough. All they did was get in the way, slow him down. It was primitive to allow oneself to be controlled by their emotions. They were a distraction and nothing more. He could be at peace, whatever that meant, when he was dead.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “I can see you disagreeing with me.”

“I’m not… necessarily,” Five hedged, unwilling to set his brother off again. Perhaps, if he kept nodding along, Viktor would grow tired of this therapist schtick and move on. Not quite his usual method of winning an argument, but he really wasn’t in the mood to keep fighting.

“One of the smartest moves someone can do is recognize when they need help. And really, all it does is make you a better person,” Viktor continued, scuffing his sneakers against the faded carpet. He cast Five a soft smile. “And I know you’re all about smart.”

The show of affection proved too much for Five’s already tender nerves. He shied away from his brother, equally compelled and repulsed by Viktor’s concern. Pressing his hands together, eager to shut down the conversation, Five told him, “Viktor, I appreciate it, I really do. But I honestly don’t have time for-”

“What scares you so much about needing other people?” Viktor interrupted, his gaze intensifying.

His heart rate quickening, Five hissed, “I’m not scared.”

And he wasn’t. He was being reasonable. The only person you could truly trust was yourself; Five had learned that lesson time and time again. Friends, family… They were all walking potential disappointments. They abandoned you, betrayed you, made idiotic calls that hurt you and everyone else you loved. No, Five was more than happy to rely on himself and himself only.

“Five,” Viktor’s voice softened. “That’s our dad talking in your head, telling you to bottle it all up. Stop taking his shitty advice and let yourself feel. Maybe you’ve got powers, but you’re still human.”

Five’s mental tirade hiccuped to a stop. He had the strange desire to laugh, which he smothered by burying his face in his hands again. God, was he human? Five wasn’t so sure sometimes. He had spent so long isolated from everyone and everything, including himself, that he almost felt like an alien when tossed back into ordinary life. Not to mention the blood staining his hands, staining his soul, the blood that he could never quite wash out…

And what had Viktor meant, bringing up their dad like that? Five had done everything in his power to be the opposite of Reginald; he had spat in the old man’s face time and time again, fighting back against his orders and his training. Of course, doing so had landed Five in the equivalent of hell for forty-five years…

Oh, god. Maybe he was more fucked up than he had thought.

Five hadn’t realized he was shaking until Viktor’s arms closed around him, oh-so gently. That urge to fight back, pull away, had completely evaporated. For once in his life, Five so desperately needed something to tether him back to reality. Still trembling, he leaned into his brother’s chest, his hands pressed against his pounding heart. Viktor’s arms were warm and heavy, their comforting weight dragging Five back to earth.

“Fuck,” Five breathed out shakily. His mouth tasted like ash again.

“You’re not alone, Five,” Viktor whispered, his chin bumping against the top of Five’s head. “You’re not alone.”

The warm prickling at the back of Five’s eyes was entirely unfamiliar, and it set off alarm bells all across his body. He carefully extracted himself from his brother’s arms, rubbing his hands across his knees to soothe himself. Turning his head away, Five forced the words, “Thank you,” between his lips.

“Yeah.” He could feel the weight of Viktor’s sad smile, boring into the back of his skull. “Of course. Any time, Five.”

“I… don’t want to talk to anyone,” Five murmured, still refusing to meet his brother’s gaze. “I might traumatize the shrink.”

Viktor gave a soft laugh. “You might actually have a point.”

Five allowed himself a small smile before turning back to face his brother. “But,” he continued, letting the word hang in the air, “I’ll try to stop being so much of a stubborn asshole.”

Viktor held up his hands in protest, a grin tugging at his lips. “Hey, your words, not mine.”

“You were thinking them.”

“I promise I wasn’t.”

Five leaned back against the faded wallpaper, waiting for the last of the panic to trickle out of his veins. It left him feeling exhausted and hollow… and in desperate need of a pick-me-up.

“I think I need a drink,” he announced, pushing himself to his feet. He wobbled there for a moment until his shaky legs remembered how to work.

Viktor gazed up at him, bemused. “At 4 am?”

“I think,” Five repeated, crossing his arms, “I need a drink.”

His brother narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I know I should tell you no, but…” he trailed off, sticking out a hand. “Help me up.”

Five jerked Viktor his feet, patting his brother’s shoulder as he stepped away. “Let’s go get blackout drunk. I need it after that shitshow.” He started off down the hall, refusing to look behind him but secretly hoping that Viktor would follow.

His brother caught up to him a moment later, and Five willfully ignored the way his spirits lifted, just slightly. “What, me talking to you about your feelings?” Viktor teased, a warm grin on his face. “Or everything back in 1963?”

Five waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Yes.”

He hesitated, then added, “And Viktor… I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell the others about…” he trailed off, the thought of verbalizing what had just happened making him sick to his stomach. So what if he had trouble admitting weakness? His brothers and sister still didn’t need to know about every little nightmare or panic attack. It wasn’t that big of a deal, truly.

To Five’s relief, Viktor didn’t press it. “I won’t,” he promised simply.

“Good. Then let’s go get that drink.”

[unseededtoast]

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part Six

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

*Content warning: description of sexual activity*

My hands should be on her smooth, soft skin. My lips should be on hers. Not his. Never his.

The miniscule camera remains where it was found, seemingly taunting you with every red blink. You and Spencer had both agreed that leaving it there was the best course of action. Taking it down or purposely covering it would tip off the stalker that they had found it. And who knows what kind of reaction that would invoke.

The two of you knew that it had recently been placed there, as Spencer would have noticed it earlier from one of the several nights he stayed over. After the discovery of the camera, a sense of dread filled your chest. You worry about what the stalker might have seen through the lens. If the stalker saw you on top of Spencer, then it's likely that something else is going to happen soon. That's just the nature of these cases, you had seen it time and time again.

And since then, neither you nor Spencer, had brought up the incidents from yesterday. The kiss shared in your bed, the passion on the living room couch. You know it had been real for you, but a tiny voice in the back of your mind wonders if he was just trying to keep you calm in the midst of this situation.

You remembered one case in particular, a while back in California, with a similar scenario. Spencer was placed on security detail for a woman and he ended up kissing her. He told the team it was to keep her from becoming overwhelmed with the situation, that she likely would have spiraled into a state of panic. He further elaborated that he gave her something to stay distracted. And you wonder if yesterday was all just some elaborate distraction.

Your heart sinks, saddened to think how you're supposed to move on from here if it was all just a ruse. There's no denying it, you've had a crush on Spencer since your early days at the BAU. You had tried to suppress it for as long as you could because you didn't want to ruing your professionalism or the team dynamic. But yesterday you were no longer able to withhold from your urges.

And now that you've had a taste of him, you never want to let him go. You want to be able to feel his hands on your body, feel his lips on your neck. You want him all to yourself, selfishly and shamelessly. Being the center of his attention like that was like a drug, one that you seem to have gotten hooked on the first time around.

The thought of him putting his hands on someone else like he did you makes you hot with anger and jealousy. You don't want his hands on anyone else, and you certainly can't stand the thought of him kissing someone else either. No, you want Spencer Reid all to yourself.

And you know if that is to ever happen, you have to find and stop the man who has turned your life upside down for the last week.

Now, you and Spencer sit at the dining room table, staring right at the manila folder that was slid underneath your door.

"Here's the timeline I put together, I am almost certain that it's correct." Spencer keeps his voice low as he speaks to you, spreading out the news articles and photos. You nod, showing him you understand and watch as the timeline gets pieced together.

Once it's all laid out, you take your time analyzing it. You recognize that the photos don't seem to be that old. In fact, you remember wearing a few of the outfits. You don't understand how you didn't realize all of this before, it seems clear as day.

"How didn't I see this?" You quietly ask, mostly to yourself. Spencer shifts in his seat, leaning forward to talk to you easier.

"It's probably just because you were in a state of shock." He explains, but it doesn't make it easier for you to accept.

"I should've been able to recognize this sooner. I mean, what the hell I'm a profiler and I couldn't even see the building blocks of my own case." You try to keep your voice quiet, but your anger and frustration bubble up. Spencer reaches over and puts a hand atop of yours, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"Don't do that to yourself." He keeps his voice low and meets your eyes. They're soft and understanding, it doesn't seem like he's blaming you one bit for missing things. You sigh and look back down to the photos.

"You're going in to talk to the team today right?" You eventually ask, hoping that you'd be allowed to tag along.

"In about an hour, but you're still under lockdown. I can have one of the other agents stay with you here if you want?" Spencer offers and you're quick to turn it down. You don't want anyone other than him inside your apartment with you.

"That's okay. Just, come back here afterwards?" You ask, knowing it sounds desperate, but you don't care. He brings you comfort and you feel safe when he's here with you. Not that you doubt your own abilities, you just like having the reassurance.

"Of course." Spencer promises and the two of you fall back into a comfortable silence.

When it's time for him to leave, you close the door behind him and look over to where the camera was discovered. You really wonder how long it had been there. Standing just out of its reach, you stare right at it. It's very small, blends right into the television stand. If it weren't for the light you'd never know it was there at all.

You tilt your head and think about who you know has been inside your apartment. Of course, there was Spencer and yourself. But other than that, nobody had really been in here, that you know of. That is, except for agent Valentine.

-----

Spencer quickly makes his way to the BAU, his heart pounding from reading Hotch's message. Apparently, Hotch had not sent Valentine over to your apartment, nobody had sent Valentine anywhere. Spencer knew something was weird about him showing up, he just felt it.

Of course, he also has to remind himself that nothing has been proven. Yet. But, he has a feeling that they're going to find some concrete evidence very soon. Spencer had taken the manila folder with him, ready to hit the ground running.

As soon as he enters through the glass doors, he sees that everyone is waiting for him in the briefing room. He wastes no time, he goes in immediately. All eyes are on him, some more apologetic than others, some confused. But he pays them no mind, all he can think about is your safety and tracking down the man who has made your life hell, the man who turned your team against you.

With the reminder that half the team didn't even believe this was legitimate, he has to keep his anger in check if he wants their help. But deep down Spencer knows he would be able to handle this without their help, there's nothing he wouldn't do to protect you.

"Did you bring everything?" Hotch asks, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, it's all here." Spencer says and spreads out the evidence he's committed to memory.

"Can you brief the team on the situation?" Hotch then asks as everyone begins looking over everything. After a deep breath, he explains the situation and how it unfolded step by step.

By the end of his explanation, he can see the remorse on the team's faces. Their eyes are trained on the photos and it's Derek who decides to speak up first.

"Listen, I'm sorry-"

"You don't have to apologize to me, she's the one you have to beg forgiveness from. What if something had happened to her because none of us believed her? How many of these cases have we seen end badly because nobody believed the victim? She's not even some stranger, she's been part of this team for years. I still cannot comprehend how any of you doubted her. So if you want to apologize, I would start with her." Spencer cuts Derek off abruptly. Derek's mouth is left open, but he takes Spencer's intrusion in stride. He nods,

"I understand." Derek leaves it at that, and everyone else seems to take note, keeping their thoughts to themselves.

Spencer excuses himself from the room to keep himself from saying anything further. They know that they've entirely messed up, and it would only hurt the case to keep harping on it. He goes to the breakroom and makes some coffee, hoping that some sense of normalcy will help him get through the day. Truthfully, he wants to go running back to your apartment, but he knows he needs to be here.

As he sips on the hot coffee, his eyes travel to your empty desk. Wilted flowers sit on your desk, but the bright white paper attached to them catches his attention. He abandons his coffee and goes to your desk. The notes from the flowers find their way into Spencer's hands and he reads them over again, despite the fact he's had them memorized since the first time he read them.

But this time, two things catch his attention. On one of the notes, the words "brilliant mind" are used and in the other, the words "story not yet complete" are scrawled on the paper. Spencer's mind flashes back to yesterday, where Valentine stood in your apartment and used very similar words. In fact, he quoted verbatim the "brilliant mind" part.

By the time the dots connect in Spencer's mind, his phone rings in his pocket. He sees your name on the screen and doesn't hesitate to answer.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" He asks, heart thumping in his chest as he realizes he knows exactly who the stalker is. He had strong suspicions, but this was the final nail in the coffin, the last shred of evidence he needed to confirm it all.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I just- I think I know who it is." You say, sounding breathless. Spencer's shoulders relax as he hears you're fine but his adrenaline spikes when you announce that you've also figured it out.

"Who?" He asks, hoping that you two have come to the same conclusion.

"It's Valentine." You say. Spencer looks back to the team in the briefing room and knows exactly what to do next.

"Listen to me. We're going to arrange the security detail to bring you here. We need to explain all of this to the team, and then we are going to find Valentine." Spencer says, walking towards the briefing room as you two exchange rushed goodbyes.

-----

Spencer tries his best to not stare at the clock while waiting for you to arrive. His foot taps anxiously against the floor, his eyes dart towards the elevator every few seconds. He's calculated the time it should take for you to get here and he's already decided that if you're even two minutes late that he will go out and find you himself. Sure, it may be a little dramatic and overkill but he is not prepared to spare any effort for you, not when Valentine is still out there somewhere.

The others wait in the briefing room as Spencer told them you were on your way. Right before he walked out of the room he noticed their shared glances full of tension. Secretly, Spencer couldn't wait to watch them beg for your forgiveness. His blood still boils if he thinks about it for too long. And though he knows a lot of things, he doesn't think he'll ever understand how the team could've turned on you so easily.

As he paces around the bullpen, he hears the elevator ding and the doors slide open. He rushes to greet you, relieved to see that you're accompanied by two agents he recognizes from the security detail. Spencer thanks the agents and leads you away from them with his hand on the small of your back. He looks over you quickly, making sure that you're okay.

"How did you figure it out?" He asks once he's satisfied that you're not in any distress. Or, no more than you've been experiencing for the last week.

"I was looking at the camera we found and remembered that Valentine was standing right over there when he came over. And then I started thinking. How did he get my address? Why did he say he was aware of the situation beyond the encryption? And his behavior reeked of desperation." You explain and Spencer nods. He glances back towards the briefing room and decides he wants to speak to you privately a little longer before the two of you head in.

"I knew there was something off about his behavior. And I knew that we would've noticed the camera sooner if it had been there a while." Spencer confirms your thoughts about Valentine's behavior. You nod your head and continue on your train of thought before you lose it.

"And I figured he got my address when he was working on my computer two months ago. Remember, after the article was published about the case where women were being killed for affairs, that Valentine had to come and install an encryption software onto my computer because the one I had was outdated?" You ask and Spencer nods,

"Yeah, yeah I remember he was asking about the pictures on your desk and about that case because the article was next to the computer. You showed him the article and said that it wasn't entirely true, but that you didn't care because the team wins together." Spencer's face lights up as more connections are being made.

"Right. And if he was working on the computer it's hard to say what else he installed on there. And then the photos from the folder? Those were taken roughly two months ago. Spencer, it all makes sense." You say, slightly breathless, almost in disbelief that you've finally figured it out, and that all the scattered pieces of the puzzle are finally coming together to form one cohesive picture.

"Come on, we should tell the others." Spencer says, resting his hand on the small of your back as the two of you walk into the briefing room.

He feels you tense as you walk in, and chooses to stand right beside you as you explain everything to the rest of the team, who gives you their full attention. Spencer's eyes watch each one of them as he tries to look for even the most minuscule indicator that someone doesn't believe you now. But much to his relief, he can't find anything of the sort in anyone. By now he's aware of everyone's behavior and is able to clock them all pretty easily. He can only find guilt and interest written on their faces.

-----

By the time you've explained everything to the team, you're met with several silent stares, each one exuding a different emotion. From a quick sweep you can pick out sadness, anger,and guilt.

But there's one person not here that you wish had made an appearance. After all your years here, you'd never known Penelope to miss something like this. But she's nowhere to be found. Perhaps that's because she still doesn't believe you. And with that crushing thought, you let yourself step closer to Spencer, who reaches for you but ultimately decides to give you a soft smile.

You know he was reaching to you to provide you comfort, but the team doesn't know what happened between the two of you and neither you nor Spencer seem to want to bring that to attention now. Maybe once the dust settles and the two of you figure out exactly what you're doing, but not now. Now you'll just have to settle for being comforted by his soft, puppy-dog eyes.

Breaking the silence, Hotch steps forward with a pointed look on his face.

"She is no longer safe to be in her apartment and she isn't safe here, not with Valentine working here. Temporary arrangements need to be made immediately. As for the rest of you, look into our systems for any other trace of interference. And once we get all of our evidence documented and Penelope determines if she can crack the code, that's when we go after Valentine." His words are concise and spoken with authority.

Everybody at the table nods and leaves the briefing room, leaving you, Spencer, and Hotch alone. Nerves prickle the tips of your fingers as you wait for Hotch's further orders.

"Is there anywhere you could go until we get Valentine?" Hotch's voice has noticeably softened and you're thankful. While you know Hotch has your back, his authority and confidence can sometimes be overwhelming.

"No, sir." You answer after considering the question.

You didn't have family in the area, there's no boyfriend you can crash with, and you know staying in a hotel with the security detail would draw unwanted attention. The crease between Hotch's eyebrows deepens, but before he can speak another word, Spencer clears his throat and takes a step forward.

"She can stay at my place." He offers and your heart swells.

While it's no strange occurrence for Spencer to stay at your apartment, you had never stayed at his before. You had always respected his aversion to shared spaces and germ transference but after yesterday's actions, this shouldn't have surprised you as much as it does. You quickly regain your composure and judge Hotch's reaction. His eyebrow is raised and he glances between you and Spencer critically.

"I'll inform the security detail of the location change." Hotch states and then turns to leave the room. The tightness in your chest is relieved as he walks out of the room. Your attention is then focused on Spencer, who's already looking at you.

"Are you sure?" You ask him, placing a gentle hand on his forearm. The corners of his moth tuck up into a smile and he nods.

"I'm positive. I would feel much better with you at my place." He affirms and you're unable to keep the grin off your face or the redness from staining your cheeks.

"Thank you, really. I'll go pack some things up and then I'll be over once you're done here for the day." You say and go to leave, but are stopped by Spencer's hand around yours.

"No, I'll go with you. I don't want you going back there alone. Especially now that we're on his trail. He could devolve and destabilize at any moment." Spencer says, keeping your hand within his. He pleads with his eyes for you to agree, and you know you're going to give in; after all you've never really been able to deny Spencer anything.

"Okay." Is all you say before the two of you walk out of the briefing room together.

----- Agent Valentine POV

The video on my screen plays over again and again and again. And each time I watch it, it doesn't become easier to accept. My knuckles turn white from how harshly I grip my computer mouse, replaying the video that's surely ingrained into my memory at this point.

As I see the dark footage of Spencer Reid on the couch with her, putting his hands all over her body, receiving her affections, my breathing becomes heavy and erratic.

My eyes are drawn to the way his fingers seem to map out every curve of her body and how his lips are able to taste the sweetness of her skin. It should be me. My hands should be on her smooth, soft skin. My lips should be on hers. Not his. Never his.

My printer sounds off as it prints a few copies of the image on my screen and I'm quick to add it to the others I have. I reserve one copy and hold it in front of my face before placing it on my desk and cutting out Spencer's face. I cannot even bear the sight of him anymore, my blood boils with unexplainable rage the more I think about him.

From the night at the bar I knew he was going to be a problem for me. That's why I tried to drive a wedge between them, but for some reason he didn't fall for it like the others. Not that my plan was bad, all I did was give her the credit she's rightfully due; it was her own teammates who didn't believe her. Perhaps that should show her how much they value her on the team.

I should've been the one to swoop in and save the day and then she would've had no choice but to see me. She would've seen everything I have to offer her. My eyes glance at my phone, hoping that she would call and ask me to install those cameras inside her apartment. After all, they would keep her safe. I would be here to make sure nobody got in, that she got home after work. My foot taps on the ground as I stare at my blank phone screen.

With a sigh, I look over to a framed photo of her I keep on my desk, and her smile calms me immensely. Soon this whole headache will be over with and we will finally be able to live the life we deserve together. I can almost picture it.

I can see the two of us on the front porch of our home, hand in hand, as we watch the sunset and count the fireflies. I can see us sharing breakfast across the table from each other, the sunlight illuminating her as if she had come straight down from heaven. I can see the fulfilling life I know we'll have. And that reminder is all I need to keep moving forward. All of this will be worth it in the end, when I can finally have her.

I click through her social medias to see if she's updated anything only to find that she hasn't. But I still go through the photos and am in awe of her beauty, just like I'm seeing her for the first time all over again. And once I'm done with her socials I check her work credentials to view her recent activity. It seems she hasn't logged on in a few days.

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I ponder when I should come in and magically crack the encryption code to save the day. By then, I will have had enough time to delete any tracks I may have left and plant new ones, ones that would reflect Spencer was the one who meddled with FBI systems. And then she would see me as her savior, she would have no other choice but to finally see me and be done with Spencer for good.

It's then that I start deleting my trail and working on fabricating false information. But for some reason as I try to place the falsified records, my computer begins running slow. Frustrated, my fists ball up and I try to get it running faster. But no matter what I do, it's still stalling.

That is, until my failsafe alerts me that someone is already in the same system. My blood runs cold as I realize someone has actually cracked the encryption code and is seeing everything I've done and am currently doing.

With a racing heart I try to determine my best course of action. And unfortunately, I think they've forced my hand to do something drastic. 

-----

With a bag slung over your shoulder, you watch as Spencer opens his front door for you. The warm green walls invite you in and you realize it's been a while since you've been over here. But not much has changed. For a few moments you take it all in, seeing that he has a new bookshelf that he's already managed to fill and that he's rearranged his furniture slightly.

"It's so peaceful here." You say softly, placing your bag on the ground while you walk around. Spencer places his keys on the counter and watches you walk around his apartment.

"If you want, I can take the couch so you can get some rest." Your head swivels to look at him, eyebrows drawn tightly together. Does this mean he regrets what you two shared? Was everything just a distraction after all?

"Oh, um, you don't have to do that. This is your home, I can take the couch." You reply after a few minutes of jumbled thought. Your heart sinks as the words tumble out of your mouth.

You should've known better than to believe it was real.

Turning away from him, you walk to the window and look down at the street below. People are walking without a care in the world, and you wonder what life would be like if you hadn't taken this job. Maybe none of this would've happened if you just took another path.

Behind you, you hear Spencer grab your bag off the floor and you twist around to watch as he takes the bag into his bedroom. But you try not to put too much thought into it, he probably just doesn't want it laying in the floor.

Moments later, he comes to stand next to you, his hands shoved in his pockets. You don't know what to say, and apparently neither does he. There are a few questions burning on the tip of your tongue but you can't find it within you to ask. Not right now.

Instead you keep your eyes focused on the ground before you, wondering how much longer you're going to have to live here like this. During the quiet moments, which are few and far between, you're reminded of how much your life has been interrupted in just a few days.

You're no longer safe in your apartment, you and Spencer had actually kissed each other, your team turned their back on you, and one of the smartest people in the FBI is your stalker. At this point you're convinced you have the worst luck in the world.

"Are you hungry for dinner?" Spencer eventually breaks the silence, his voice raspy from the day.

Turning away from the window, you see how tired he is and you remember that he really hasn't slept much in two days. And now you're here in his home, disrupting his routine.

"I can take care of it. Please, let me. You're letting me stay here and you haven't had much sleep. It's really the least I can do." You answer and make your way to his kitchen.

He follows behind you and leans forward on the counter, watching you take inventory of his pantry. For as often as the team travels he keeps his pantry fairly well stocked, especially for a man.

"How do you feel about chicken parm?" You ask, closing the refrigerator door. Spencer's already looking at you, a small smile on his face.

"I think that sounds fantastic." He answers and sits on one of the stools. You nod and turn back around to collect everything you need.

While you prepare dinner, Spencer observes quietly. His hair is disheveled from the day and you notice some stubble adorning his jawline. A part of you hopes he keeps it and grows it out, there's just something about it that makes him look irresistible; more so than usual. He reaches up and loosens the tie around his neck and you try your best to sneak glances of him while you work. But eventually he's the only thing you can think about.

"Why don't you get changed into something more comfortable? It'll be done in a few minutes." You propose, hoping that he goes away for a few minutes so you can concentrate on not burning the sauce.

With a lazy nod, he slinks away to his bedroom and you let out a sigh. You wish you had the courage to ask him if the kisses were real. But you're afraid that if you ask, and he says no, that your only chance with him will wither and die. But if you don't ask, then you can convince yourself there's a chance.

After a few moments he returns in some simple sweatpants and a plain shirt. But somehow he makes it look like luxury loungewear. Instead of taking his spot at the counter, he walks behind the counter and looks over your shoulder. His hands rest on each of your shoulders and he rests his head atop of yours. In an instant, your heart thumps heavily in your chest, so much that you're sure he can feel it too.

"It smells amazing." His voice is quiet and deep, his lips are right by your ear which causes a shiver to run down your spine.

"Spencer." You say, not sure of exactly what you want to say, or ask, as your mind is becoming fuzzy and overwhelmed by his close proximity. His hands run down your shoulders, down your arms, before they rest on your hips.

Perhaps the kisses were real after all. Or maybe this is all just another distraction. Which means if this is a distraction then something else must've happened and he doesn't want you to find out about it yet so you aren't more scared.

You turn the heat off on the stove before you turn around in his arms. Your eyes meet his and you see how his eyes look over your face as if he's memorizing every small detail. Which he very well could be.

"Hmm?" He hums, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

"Spencer, what are we doing here?" You finally gain the courage to ask him.

He blinks a few times as if he's processing the question. For once, you're not sure if he has an answer at ready. Had you really just caused Spencer to really think about a question?

Eventually though, his grip becomes just slightly tighter on your hips and he licks his lips. With hopeful eyes, you look into his as he finally answers. You just hope he isn't about to break your heart.

"I think this entire situation made me realize how much I care about you. Can I be completely honest here?" He asks and you nod your head, wanting nothing more than the unfiltered truth from him.

"Of course." You affirm and he takes in a deep breath.

"When you realized someone had been stalking you, it made me come to understand that I hate the idea of someone laying claim to you like that. I hate the thought of someone looking at you with impure intentions, I hate the thought of someone invading your privacy, I hate the idea of someone else putting their hands on you. And if I am being honest here, I haven't had such violent thoughts since I was in prison. And, truthfully, I know I would do whatever it takes to make sure that you're safe; there would be nothing too extreme."

His words make your heart skip a beat and you find no traces of a lie in his eyes or written anywhere on his face. Instead, all you see is driven resolve. And you know he meant every single word.

"Spencer -"

"I'm sorry if that was too much, I know the way I said it was intense. But I mean it. You've found a way to infiltrate my every thought in the best way possible. I wake up and wonder if you slept okay and if you're alright and I go to bed wondering if you feel safe. And in the moments in between, I think about what I could be doing to make sure you feel safe, about what I can do to protect you from Valentine." He cuts you off and rambles on a bit more, and you take in every word.

If Spencer were anyone else his words may raise some concern, but because he's Spencer, your Spencer, you're just relieved. You're relieved because you know now that it was all real. And after he's done speaking, you lick your lips and fight the smile that wants to plaster itself on your face.

"Spencer, you're the only one that believed me about this from the get go. You're the one who made sure I've been safe. And, if I'm also being completely truthful here, you've found a way to occupy my every thought too." You say, trying not to let your voice waver at the end. Because Spencer is so close, it's hard to concentrate on exactly what you want to tell him. And as he hears your words, he smiles.

"And if I'm being even more truthful, all I've been able to think about is how your hands felt on my body, and how I never want anyone else to feel your touch." You go one step further to prove your point. He's so close to you now, that your noses almost touch. There's a growing heated tension between the two of you, and you know that it's going to give at some point.

"And I never want anyone to feel your lips on their skin, I never want someone else to hear the way you pant and moan. I want it all for myself." His voice is merely a whisper now. Your hands come up and grab the front of his shirt, no longer being able to take it.

Your lips crash onto his, and he wastes no time in cradling your face with one hand while the other wraps around your waist. Your mind flashes back to last night, but unlike last night there's a sort of hunger lingering between you two. Something primal, and desperate.

A few seconds of heated kisses leads Spencer to lifting you and setting you on the counter where your legs wrap around his waist. Your hand finds his hair and you tug on it slightly, eliciting a breathy pant from Spencer as he places kisses on your cheek down to your neck.

Your eyes flutter shut and your lips fall apart as you're bathed in warm ecstasy. There had been many many nights where you had dreamed of this happening, but now that your dreams are reality it's difficult to fully grasp.

Spencer's fingers slide up your thighs and sneak underneath your shirt. Your back arches into him and you encourage him to keep going. His lips find their way back to your neck and between his hands on your bare skin and his lips hovering over your sweet spot, you're convinced that you may explode from burning desire.

"Spencer please." You beg him, pushing your body to be closer to him, your legs pulling him closer into you.

His breathing is heavy as he pulls away and looks you in the eye. But only for a moment because before you know what's happening, he's scooping you off the counter and taking you to his bedroom.

Spencer places you gently on his bed and wastes no time to get his hands back on you. This time though, his hands travel further south. Your body is hot with need for him, you're sure your cheeks are flushed. And before Spencer takes even a single article of clothing off of you, he takes a step back to take in the view.

"You are so unbelievably beautiful." His breath is airy, his lips a dark pink and just slightly swollen.

Suddenly feeling self conscious about being under his careful gaze, you reach out for him,

"Come here." You tell him and then grab him by the front of his shirt. Spencer supports himself as he hovers above you.

The two of you kiss each other once more, full of passion and desire. You lead his hand to where you need him the most and you feel his breath hit hitch.

"Are you, you're sure about this?" He suddenly sounds nervous and you smile sweetly back.

"There's nothing I want more than you." You truthfully tell him, and he doesn't second guess your words.

His lithe fingers make quick work of the button on your pants and he tugs them down your legs with an almost expert precision. You see his pupils dilate as he looks over your soft skin, his hands grabbing onto your thighs and you swear you hear him restrain a moan.

He works his way towards the thin elastic waistband, his fingers hooking onto it and gently pulling. You lift your hips and watch him as he looks like a man starved, that's just been served a four course meal on a silver platter. His hair hangs down in front of his eyes, but you can still see the need within them.

Your eyes flutter shut once more as you feel the cool air of the room against your half-bare body. Spencer hums in appreciation and his hands find their way back to your thighs. Your breathing increases, you chest rises and falls quickly as you anticipate the feeling of Spencer's fingers.

But before you feel anything, both of your phones ring in the room next door.

Freezing in place, the two of you work your way through your mental fog and debate whether or not it's worth answering. Spencer looks heartbroken, as if he's a child on Christmas that's been told Santa forgot to stop at his house.

"We should, um, we should probably get that." You clear your throat and push away the deep disappointment you feel. Spencer stands up straight and offers you a hand off the bed.

"Yeah, yeah of course." It sounds like he's trying to convince himself and not you. Quickly, you pull your pants back on and find your phone before it stops ringing.

Desire is soon replaced with dread as you think of a hundred different reasons why the team would call both of you at the same time

-----

The entire team sits around the table in the briefing room as Garcia explains her breakthrough discovery. Spencer and you had decided to take seats on opposite sides of the table, but it doesn't help that you're thinking of his hands on your skin. 

"So basically that's how I cracked the AES 128. However, when I cracked it I saw everything he had done and what he was in the process of doing." Garcia explains, though most of the technical talk goes over your head. 

"And what did you find?" Hotch is the first one to speak up and he leans forward on the table, his elbows resting on the hard surface. Penelope takes in a deep breath and her eyes flicker over to Spencer. 

"Well, sir, it looks like he was trying to erase his tracks and replace them with Spencer's credentials. My best theory is that he was going to alter everything and then make the encryption go away so we would find it all. But that's not it, no, Valentine's credentials were used to enter the BAU the night that the evidence was retagged." She elaborates and your eyebrows scrunch together. 

You vividly remember receiving that text from Spencer and a shiver runs down your spine as you realize just how close Valentine's been operating this entire time. You swallow the sickness that wants to rise within you

"And I hate to be the bearer of even more bad news, but I am fairly sure that he went through your personnel file." Penelope looks at you as she speaks, her eyes full of sorrow. 

"That's how he knew where I live." You speak up, throat feeling dry. To keep from crying you bite the inside of your cheek. You had the suspicion that Valentine had done all of this, but to hear it confirmed out loud shakes you to your core. If he looked through your file then he knows just about everything there is to know about you.

This time, it's Spencer who breaks the silence. He stands from his spot at the table and angrily runs a hand through his hair. He paces back and forth before saying anything, probably choosing exactly the right words. Everyone's eyes are glued to him as he stops pacing. He pushes his button-up sleeves to his elbows and looks right into your eyes, like you are the only two in the room. 

"If I find him, I'm going to kill him." His voice is calm, level, serious. His rigid posture and bluntness is something you're vaguely familiar with, but you haven't seen this behavior from him in a long time, not since he was released from prison. 

"Don't-"

"Don't tell me I'm overreacting. We know how these things end. There's no chance in hell I'm letting him get close enough to hurt her. He will have to kill me first before he gets a chance at her. No, if I see him anywhere near me I don't think I'll be able to control myself." He admits. And even though his words should shake you, all they make you feel is safe. 

You know Spencer would go to any length to make sure that you're safe. That much is clear as day to you now. It's almost endearing to hear. And you'd be a liar if you said you wouldn't do the same for him. 

The rest of the team stays silent with his admission. Everyone knows that he means exactly what he said. And surprisingly, nobody tries to talk him down any further. They know he's right, these situations usually end with the victim badly injured or killed. We've seen it enough times. 

"We know how the behavior patterns of stalkers. If he gets wind that we're after him he'll go for her. Spencer, stay with her. The rest of you, it's time to bring him in." Hotch orders in a stern voice. The team is quick to get to their feet and get to work. 

Before you're whisked out of here once more, Spencer stands in front of you to block your path. You look up at him through your lashes and he takes your hands within his. 

"I'm sorry for the way I said everything, but I want you to know it's true. For what he's done to you, my beautiful girl, I would kill him in a heartbeat." He reiterates and it makes your heart beat faster. You squeeze his hands in appreciation. 

"Well, let's hope you don't find him first." You say with a small smile on your face. 

Spencer walks you out of the office with his hand on your lower back. He never once loses physical contact with you until you're safely in his car. And even then, his hand rests on your thigh. You observe his behavior, never having seen him so possessive before. It's interesting to you, seeing this side of him up close and personal. His eyes hold a burning intensity, like he could stare right through someone's soul, his shoulders seem broader from his tense posture, his jaw sharper from clenching it in anger and determination. 

Though it may scare some, it only intensifies what you feel for him. 

[sidekick-hero]

Here it is, the next chapter of my entry for the @steddiesummerexchange. This is a gift for my dear friend @starryeyedjanai 💜💜💜 Her prompt was 'Steve can't get his inheritance until he marries someone'. Shout out to @acasualcrossfade for being the best beta reader there is!

Pairings: Steve/Eddie, Robin/Chrissy Characters: Steve, Eddie, Robin, Chrissy, Max, Dustin, Wayne Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake Marriage, Platonic Stobin, Platonic Hellcheer, idiot4idiot, Friends to Husbands to Lovers, Humor and Fluff and a smudge Angst

Summary:

When Steve's grandmother dies, he finds out that he can only get his inheritance - half a million dollars - if he marries someone. It's her way of forcing Steve to live a heterosexual life. Sucks for her that gay marriage has been legalized since she wrote her will. Sucks for Steve that he doesn't have a man or woman in his life to marry. Cue Eddie Munson, roommate and best friend of Robin's girlfriend Chrissy and the guy Steve has had a crush on for years. What could possibly go wrong?

Read on AO3 - the fic is finished and has 4 chapters, the last one will drop June 24

Chapter 1| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 3 (4.7k) under the cut

Luck is on his side because Eddie is home. He looks like Steve just woke him up—pillow crease on his cheek, hair a mess, and his face softer than usual, making him look younger.

It's a sweet sight, one Steve might get used to if they actually move in together. For the first time, the thought doesn't fill him with dread and sadness about losing Robin as a roommate.

"Steve?" Eddie asks, blinking in confusion. "Birdie's not here, sorry." He sounds half-asleep, his words slightly slurred.

Of course, Eddie would think he was looking for Robin. Despite what Chrissy and Robin say, Steve and Eddie getting married will change things. Like, Steve will start seeking Eddie's company and they'll spend time alone without their friends as buffers.

"No, I know she's at work. I wanted to talk to you. I texted you that I was coming over."

Eddie’s face lights up with understanding. "Oh, sorry, my phone's in sleep mode. Had a late shift at the bar and only got home around 2. Then I had to open the garage because Bernie sprained his ankle, so I was catching up on some sleep."

"Ah, shit, I'm so sorry, man," Steve apologizes quickly, wincing. "I didn't mean to wake you. It's not that important, go back to sleep, we can talk tomorrow or—"

Eddie cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder. "No, no, it's okay, really. Come on in. You couldn't have known, and I should get up anyway if I don't wanna mess up my sleep rhythm."

Steve snorts. "From what I hear, you have as much of a sleep rhythm as Robin has a brain-mouth filter."

"You wound me, Harrington. Just because it's eclectic doesn't mean there's no rhythm. My sleep schedule is more jazz than pop."

Steve chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Sure, whatever you say.”

Eddie steps aside with a playful swat to Steve’s shoulder. “I feel like you’re not taking me seriously here.”

Steve only hums in response, so Eddie changes the topic. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

They move into the kitchen, and Steve takes a seat at the highbar Chrissy and Eddie installed two years ago. Steve remembers helping with that project, along with Eddie’s friend Jeff. It was a fun afternoon—just them chatting, sharing a big pizza, and working with their hands. It shouldn’t have surprised Steve that Eddie was good with his hands. After all, he’s seen him play guitar and mix drinks expertly when he bartends. He also knows Eddie makes most of his money fixing cars and motorbikes at a friend’s garage.

Still, seeing Eddie aptly handling tools and oiling up the wood had been… an experience. One he had revisited in his mind more than once when he couldn’t sleep and was too weak to fight off the urge any longer to jack off to thoughts of his friend.

“Earth to Steve, do you copy?”

Eddie’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and he realizes Eddie is now standing much closer than before.

“Uh… sorry, I zoned out. What did you say?”

“I,” Eddie starts, speaking slowly and deliberately, “asked if you wanted a coffee. And before that, I asked what you wanted to talk about. You haven’t answered either question, so here’s a third: Is everything alright?”

Eddie's probably joking, but he sounds a bit worried, so Steve musters a mostly sincere smile.

“Yeah, man. I’m good. Just… it’s been a long day. Long days. Coffee sounds good, I haven’t slept much.”

“Sure, coming right up.”

Steve watches as Eddie prepares their coffees, his thoughts drifting again as he watches Eddie’s surprisingly broad back move under his worn t-shirt. It looks soft and thin, sporting a couple of holes, and looking incredibly comfy. He idly wonders how it would feel to wrap his arms around Eddie’s tiny waist from behind, pressing his front against Eddie’s back, with his chin hooked over Eddie’s bony shoulder and his cheek against Eddie’s.

It’s a nice thought.

“Your coffee, my liege.”

A cup of coffee appears in front of Steve, startling him out of his daydreams about Eddie. It's the second time he's drifted off today, and he really needs to get his act together.

“Thanks, man. Do you have some milk?”

“Already added it. Two sips, no sugar, right?”

And, yeah, that’s exactly how Steve takes his coffee. He just had no idea Eddie knew that too.

His surprise must be obvious because Eddie's ears turn red. He hides his mouth behind a strand of hair and mumbles, “Just noticed you always make it like that.”

Steve's heart skips a beat. It's a small thing, but it means a lot to know that Eddie is paying so much attention to him, even if it's just as confusing as the time Eddie decided to fall on his own ass to save Steve's birthday cake. Or the time he drove over to Steve and Robin's apartment to make sure Steve had actually turned off the stove that morning because everyone else was at work.

It doesn't fit with the way he rebuffed every attempt by Steve to get to know him better when they first met. Or this conversation he overheard between him and Chrissy about two months after Robin and Chrissy started dating. The one where Eddie had asked why Robin was always bringing that rich asshole jock over.

Everything about Eddie keeps confusing him, making the conversation he needs to have with him even harder, so he takes a sip of coffee to buy some time.

It's good, strong but not bitter, and just the right amount of milk. He hums appreciatively. "Thanks, Eddie. It’s perfect."

Eddie smiles shyly and sits across from Steve, cradling his own mug. "So, what's up, man? It seemed pretty urgent when you knocked on my door."

Steve takes a deep breath, knowing he has to get this right. "I, uh, told Max and Dustin about us. You know, the whole fake engagement thing. Only, I didn’t tell them it’s fake, obviously."

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? And how'd they take it?"

"Well, they believed it. Max was cool about it," Steve lies, remembering how serious Max got about his issues, something he doesn't want to unpack right now. "And Dustin... well, he was a little hurt we didn't tell him sooner, but he's on board. He'll be a groomsman, just FYI." Steve pauses, rubbing his neck nervously. "The thing is, I kind of told them a story about how we got together. And I'm not sure it matches what you've been telling people.”

Eddie's eyes widen in amusement. "You made up a story? This I gotta hear."

Steve groans but feels a bit relieved that Eddie seems cool about it. “Okay, so… it had to be convincing. Max and Dustin have known me forever, so they know that I’m someone who,” Steve pauses, feeling vulnerable admitting he falls fast and hard, an incurable romantic at heart.

“Someone who…” Eddie prompts.

“Someone who usually rushes headfirst into relationships. I hook up a lot, but when I date, I fall pretty fast. Robin says I have a trigger-happy heart, whatever that means.” He knows what it means, and that Robin’s right, but Eddie doesn’t need to know that. “So I told them I had a crush on you but wasn’t sure how you felt until a movie night, where we both reached for the chips and our fingers touched, then we kissed, and the rest is history. I proposed pretty fast after that, too, because I wanted to put a ring on the guy I had been crushing on for so long. They ate the story right up.” Steve adds the last part hastily, realizing how cliché it sounds.

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. "I can't believe they just bought it like that, it sounds like something straight out of a romcom. But you know what? I kinda love it."

Steve feels almost dizzy with relief. "You do?"

"Yeah, it's cute. And I haven't told anyone yet, so we can stick to your story."

Steve lets out a sigh of gratitude for Eddie’s easy acceptance before the implications of what Eddie just said sink in.

"You haven't told anyone yet?"

The hurt in his voice is more obvious than he wants it to be, but he can't help but wonder why Eddie wouldn't tell anyone. Sure, it's not like they're in a real relationship, but it still feels like Eddie's ashamed of him or something. Deep down he knows that he's way too invested, but it's hard not to get caught up in it all.

Eddie must have heard it too, because his eyes soften as they search his face. "No, not yet. I... wasn't sure you wouldn't take it back, to be honest. And I didn't want to have to explain to people why I told them I was getting married and then had to say 'oops, my bad, never mind', y'know?"

There's some color in Eddie's cheeks and he's fiddling with his rings, his eyes darting away from Steve's. He grabs Eddie's hand and stops him from twisting his thumb ring.

"You really thought that? But - why? I mean, if anyone was going to take it back, I thought it would be you. You're doing me a huge favor here, in case you've forgotten."

Eddie's hand feels warm in his, the skin under his palm softer than he expected. He squeezes it to emphasize his words and desperately wants to give in to the urge to caress his knuckles with his thumb, too.

He doesn't, figuring it's a line he shouldn't cross.

"I told you, I don't mind. And I get something out of it too, so it's not like you're twisting my arm or anything. I guess it's just hard for me to believe that someone like you would want to marry someone like me. Even if it's a scam."

"You mean someone who's a rich asshole jock?" Steve asks, his voice bitter as he remembers Eddie's words to Chrissy.

Eddie's eyes widen in obvious surprise. "What? No! What makes you..." Eddie begins, but trails off, the color draining from his face as he curses at the realization. "You heard that, huh?"

He looks pained as he asks, his hand twitching under Steve's as if he wants to pull it away but doesn't dare.

"Yeah, I did. Sorry for eavesdropping, but you and Chrissy were discussing it right in front of the bathroom I was going to use."

Eddie groans, finally pulling his hand away so he can bury his face in his hands. His voice is muffled when he speaks.

"No. Fuck, no. I'm sorry, Steve. That was... That was before."

"Before?"

"Before! Before I got to know you. Before I realized that I might be a complete idiot who prides himself on going against the grain and being open-minded and all that shit, only to go around judging people by their appearances instead of giving them a fair chance. The only asshole in this room is me." He groans again, a sound of pain and despair. "God, I can't believe you heard that crap and went on thinking that's how I fe - that's how I see you."

"Isn't it?" Steve couldn't help but ask, stunned by the sudden turn of events. He thought that Eddie had gotten over some of his resentment over the last few years, but it's hard to believe that he sees Steve so differently.

"It isn't!" Eddie almost yells, clearly wanting Steve to believe him. Then his voice softens again, "It's not. It didn't take me long to realize that you're a really good dude, Steve.”

And that is... a lot to take in. While he may need some time to let Eddie's words sink in, his heart doesn't seem to have any trouble taking this new realization and running with it, judging by the warmth spreading through his chest.

Eddie likes him. Has for some time, it seems. Maybe not in the same way that Steve likes him, but it's nice. Really nice.

"I won't," he tells Eddie.

"You won't what?"

"Take it back. I'm still all in. That is, if you are too."

A slow smile spreads across Eddie's face, the first hint of dimples adorning his cheeks. He returns it with one of his own, and for a long moment they just look at each other, the air around them thick with something. Something he dares not name, but that makes the hairs on his arms stand up.

Then Eddie breaks the moment by shaking his head with a small chuckle. "Looks like I have to make some phone calls today and share the great news."

"Great news? Did I miss something?" Steve jokes and Eddie rolls his eyes with a scoff.

"Had a clown for breakfast, Harrington?"

Right on cue, his stomach growls loudly. "Actually, I skipped breakfast."

Their eyes meet again and they both burst out laughing. When they calm down a bit, Eddie gets up from the table and claps his hand.

"Okay, this won't do. I can't let my future husband starve before he makes me an honest man. Let's go get something to eat, on me."

Steve gets up as well, still grinning happily. "You don't have to, I can pay."

"I know I don't and I know you can. But I want to. Sometimes people want to do nice things for you too, Stevie, and you have to let them. It's rude not to, y'know. Besides," Eddie adds, his voice getting serious, "I want to make it up to you. The shit I said, I mean."

He looks so earnest that it makes Steve melt a little. It's not that he needs it, he forgave Eddie long before they ever talked about it, but it feels like Eddie does.

"Okay. Thanks, Eds. I could go for some blueberry pancakes."

"Good choice, good choice. Lou's Diner?" Eddie's smile brightens again, both cheeks now dimpled, and Steve is glad he gave in, if it means he's the one causing that look on Eddie's face.

"You know how to treat a guy."

"I try."

Eddie disappears into his room to get his wallet, then rushes back, grabs his hands and drags him toward the door.

He doesn't let go until they're both on the sidewalk, walking side by side to the diner, their fingers brushing with almost every step.

"Okay, so I'm calling my uncle and the boys today, you already told Max and Dustin. Chrissy and Robin obviously know as well. Anyone else we need to tell?"

The question makes Steve falter in his steps and Eddie, who didn't notice at first and kept walking, rushes back to him when he realizes that Steve is no longer next to him.

"What is it? Is everything okay?"

Steve shakes his head. "No. I mean, yeah, I'm fine. Everything is fine. I just remembered I have to tell my boss. And my team."

"You think they'll react badly?"

With a sigh, Steve nudges Eddie's shoulder with his own and starts walking again. It's easier to talk about it when he doesn't have to look at Eddie's face.

"I don't know," he admits. "I want to say, no, they're good people. I mean, they are. But... back in high school, I thought my friends were good people, too. That they cared about me. Turns out they didn't. My best friend, Tommy... We used to fool around sometimes. He always said it didn't mean anything, that friends help each other out sometimes, no big deal. That's bullshit, of course. I just didn't want to admit that I liked guys as much as I liked girls. Then, the first semester of senior year, I had a girlfriend that I really liked. Loved, actually. Tommy didn't take it well. I guess he was jealous because I stopped making out with him and he told everyone how I liked dick. That I was trying to touch his.” Here Steve rolls his eyes at the irony of it all. It was Tommy who had always been so eager to get his hands on Steve. “Everything changed. My teammates on the basketball team refused to change in front of me, my friends started talking about me behind my back. Even my girlfriend looked at me differently after I admitted to her that I 'kind of like boys, too'."

It's like a dam has broken, all these words coming out of him. Eddie doesn't say a word, just walks beside him and lets him get it all out. He reaches for Steve's hand again, though, holding it in his own in silent support, his thumb stroking his knuckles in much the same way Steve had dreamed of doing to Eddie earlier.

When Steve is finished, Eddie squeezes his hand.

"Did you know that about 600,000 people go missing every year in the U.S.? Who knows, maybe this Tommy will join them soon. Wouldn't that be a shame?"

Steve can't help but burst out laughing. The grin Eddie throws his way tells him that's exactly what he hoped would happen, obviously proud of himself for making Steve laugh.

"I appreciate the...offer? Threat? Fun fact? But it's okay, I'm over it. It sucked big time, but it also made me realize that they were all rich asshole jocks and I didn't want to be one of them anymore." He winks to take some of the heat out of his words.

"Okay, fine. The offer's on the table, though. But seriously, I get it. You're afraid your team will let you down like those assholes did."

"I guess. Which is probably unfair, but -"

"Once burned, twice shy."

"Exactly. Is that stupid?"

"No, it's not." Eddie reassures him. "I think it's perfectly normal to be cautious after what you've been through. But maybe your teammates are surprising you. Every time you talk about them, they sound pretty awesome and like you have a great relationship with them."

Steve didn't even realize he was talking about his teammates so much, or that Eddie was paying attention when he did.

"So how about this: Our apartment has this common area out back. We could have a little barbecue out there with Max and Dustin and the girls on the day you tell your team. That way, we can take your mind off of it if it doesn't go well, or, my personal favorite, we can celebrate that they took it well with a couple of burgers and some beer."

Eddie sounds sincere, his hand around Steve's as firm and sure as his voice.

"That... that would be great. You really think that would be okay?"

They reach Lou's Diner and Eddie turns to face him, his big brown eyes full of an emotion Steve can't name. "Yeah, I'm sure. All in, remember?"

On impulse, Steve rushes forward and wraps his arms around Eddie, pressing his face into his neck. After a moment of surprised hesitation, Eddie's arms wrap around him in return. He squeezes Steve tightly, his hand gently rubbing his back.

Steve doesn't let go for a long time.

Eddie is so screwed. He's not known for making particularly smart decisions, but this has to take the cake. Offering to fake marry the guy he's been head over heels for years.

Stupidity of epic proportions, your name is Eddie Munson.

In his defense, he didn't come up with the idea. No, that honor goes to Chrissy and Buckley. But Eddie could have said no when they pitched him their idea on how to help Steve get his inheritance and at the same time flip that horrible woman he's unfortunate enough to call Grandmother the bird.

As if Eddie has that much sense of self-preservation. It's like they never even met him. So of course he said yes, and when Steve told him, all earnest puppy eyes, that Eddie didn't have to do this, he made up a story about needing a loan for the record store he and Jeff were in the process of buying anyway. He's not looking forward to that awkward conversation when that particular truth comes out, but that's a problem for future Eddie.

Present Eddie is freaking out because past Eddie offered to throw a barbecue for Steve to make him feel better after coming out to his team at the firehouse. He invited Steve's little sister Max and made sure that Dustin came all the way from Boston to join them, with Robin, Chrissy, and Eddie there as backup in case Steve's team reacts badly and he needs his favorite people to cheer him up.

"Could you please stop freaking out, Edward? Robin and Steve are going to be here any minute and you looking like you're seconds away from bolting is not going to help anyone."

"I really don't like this tough love thing you've got going, Chris. Where's the sweet, innocent girl who ambushed me in the woods to buy weed from me and then never left?"

"She became friends with you," Chrissy quips back and presses a quick kiss to his cheek, still grinning.

Eddie, unable to keep up the fake annoyance any longer, cracks and, with a cackle of laughter, grabs his best friend and spins her around until her pearly laugh echoes through their apartment.

That's how Steve and Robin find them, clearly amused by the antics they've just seen.

"Did we miss something?" Steve asks with a smile and Eddie's heart flutters at the sight.

"Nope," he answers, popping the 'p'. "Just the usual occurrence of Chrissy being a menace to me."

"Watch it, Munson. That's my girlfriend you're talking about." Robin chimes in and walks over to greet Chrissy with a sweet kiss.

"Stevie, it is your sacred duty as my future husband to defend me!" Eddie cries out as Steve just stands there watching them with amusement.

"Oh no, no, no. I refuse to be dragged into this."

Robin actually cackles like some kind of supervillain. "Damn right. Steve knows I have access to his hair products and I have no qualms about using that knowledge against him."

Eddie throws up his arms and stalks off to the kitchen to get the things they need for the barbecue.

Later, he stands by the grill, watching Steve flip burgers with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times. The backyard is filled with the people closest to Steve and him, their laughter and conversation filling the common area. Eddie's heart feels incredibly full at the sight.

He nudges Steve gently. "You okay? You haven't said a word about how it went. Has me a bit worried, to be honest."

Steve nods, though Eddie can see the pensiveness in his eyes. "Yeah, I'm good. I guess it went better than I thought it would. They hated that I didn't tell them sooner, but Jim talked some sense into them. He said I didn't owe them anything and that he was sure I had my reasons."

Eddie gives him a reassuring smile. "They'll understand when you tell them what you told me. And even if you don't, it sounds like they care a great deal about you. They'll get over it."

Steve takes a deep breath and nods. "I hope you're right." Then he looks at Eddie through his lashes, a wry twist to his mouth indicating Steve thinks Eddie won't like what's coming next. "I might have invited them all to our wedding. Y'know, to make it up to them. But I'm sure I could tell them -"

"That's fine, Steve. Really. In fact, I didn't expect anything else. I was hoping Uncle Wayne would have someone his age at the wedding to talk to, and your captain sounds like the perfect guy for the job."

Eddie quickly begins to realize that he would do anything for Steve, as long as it meant Steve would look at him the way he does now. His hazel eyes are all soft and warm, the little smile that curls the corners of his mouth almost intimate. They lean in close, both gazing at each other, lost in their own little orbit. So close, Eddie can see the freckles on the bridge of Steve's nose and the swirls of gold and green in his eyes. It wouldn't take much to bridge the gap between them, just a slight tilt of his head, a few inches of space he'd need to push forward. Just a few teeny-tiny inches...

"Ew, gross! Get a room, you two. There are children present." Max's voice cuts through the thickening tension between them, startling them apart.

Steve looks at her sternly, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. "Excuse me?"

Eddie, on the other hand, just sticks his tongue out at her.

Dustin, who had been talking with Robin, also turns toward them, adding his own two cents. "I can't believe I didn't call this. You two are so obvious, it's embarrassing."

Usually, Eddie would tell Dustin off for his tone, maybe even tease him about missing all the clues with that genius brain of his, but that would be risky. Sure, maybe there had been clues from his side, but he sure as hell doesn’t want Steve to know that. So instead of doing one of his favorite things in the world—teasing Dustin—he keeps quiet and just rolls his eyes at him.

Steve, however, chooses a different approach. He ignores both his little sister and Dustin in favor of continuing their conversation.

"So, how did your uncle take the news of your betrothal?"

The phrasing makes Eddie laugh. "Stevie, you sound like Birdie and Chrissy made you watch Pride and Prejudice with them." When Steve doesn’t respond, only his cheeks slightly reddening, Eddie can’t help but cackle. "They did, didn’t they? Don’t worry, I’ve been swooning over Mr. Darcy since I was a teenager. I'm happy to be your Elizabeth Bennet."

For a moment, Eddie's afraid he said too much, revealed too much. But Steve’s just smiling at him like the thought amuses him, so Eddie thinks they’re good. He really hopes so, because now that Steve mentioned his talk with Wayne, he remembers the old man’s words.

When Eddie had told him about the wedding, asking if he’d come, his uncle had been surprisingly unsurprised.

"It’s that Steve fella you’re always going on about, isn’t it?" he had asked, like he’d been waiting for something like that to happen. It had made Eddie cringe. Seems like he had talked a lot more about Steve than he thought he had.

"How’d you know?" Eddie still had to ask.

"Because you’ve been smitten with that boy for years and he would be stupid not to want you back. And my nephew doesn’t fall for stupid."

It was then that Eddie had wished more than ever that he could tell Wayne the truth, ask his advice. But just like Steve, he didn’t want to pull his only family that mattered to him into his mess. Besides, Wayne sounded so happy that Eddie finally got to have the love he deserves that Eddie couldn’t bring himself to tell him that no, Steve just needed him. Liked him, maybe, from the looks of it, but not love. Never love, not for Eddie.

"Hello, Earth to Eddie. Do you copy?" Steve asks, sounding once again like the nerd Eddie knows he secretly is after years of hanging out with Dustin Henderson.

"Yeah, sorry, just remembered that I have to put the garbage bin out tomorrow."

Steve looks a bit doubtful but lets it drop. "So, your talk with your uncle, how did it go?"

"It went well. He’s excited to meet you."

Another of those soft smiles graces Steve’s face, and Eddie learns that he’s quickly becoming addicted to causing them. "Good, that’s good. Me too. He sounds great."

Only two more weeks until the most important person in his life and the guy he’s secretly in love with, whom he’s fake marrying, will meet. What could possibly go wrong?

[mrs-snape5984]

“How can you miss someone, you've never met? 'Cause I need you now, but I don't know you yet…”

“But can you find me soon because I'm in my head? Yeah, I need you now, but I don't know you yet…” (“IDK You Yet” by Alexander 23)

Being devoted to a fictional character for about 21 years can be challenging from time to time. Sure, it’s called “having a comfort character” for reasons, and I can’t deny, that my long lasting love for Severus Snape has given me the much needed comfort and consolation all over those years. He was by my side, whenever I felt the urge to escape from my traumatic reality…and fuck…there was way too much in my life, which made me flee to Severus. Don’t worry, I won’t mention all these experiences in this text (I’ve already done this in one of my other pathetically whiny posts).

But there’s another issue, that comes with the adoration for a fictional character…something torturous, heart-wrenching and devastatingly painful: It’s the piteous longing for someone, who will never be mine in real life….a goddamn feeling, which is eating me alive! Of course, I’m still coping with my current situation of being doomed to a life in darkness (fuck you, ME/CFS!!!!!) by writing my own ridiculously self-inserting fan fictions about Sevy and Jules…only for myself…solely to soothe my troubled heart. Furthermore, the many artists of Snapedom might know me as someone, who’s requesting immensely personal artworks for my blog…always using them to emphasise my journal entries here.

But there are times, when this isn’t enough anymore! I’m surrounded by Severus in my dark room… one could say, that I’m living in my private Snape-and-Wizarding-World-in-general-Museum. 😅 Everything here feels like my very own comfort blanket, which I’m pulling tighter around my trembling body to create a sensation of warmth and safety. And yet… yeah… and yet, I’m fucking lonely! Lying in darkness and solitude all day makes this cruel longing for Severus become agonising and almost unbearable. I’m bawling my eyes out for someone, who will never be able to hear my heart crying out for him. And to be honest: In my age, this is a sentiment, which I’m absolutely ashamed of!

For the past 21 years, I’ve known this miserable emotion only in this exact context. But now, something happened, which made the confines of my heart and the walls, I’ve built around myself, shatter into pieces…leaving me vulnerable and emotionally churned up like never before. Becoming close and trusting friends with someone, who’s living so far away from me - separated by the ocean - turns out to be blessing and curse at once.

Suddenly, I feel confronted by the same emotions, which my pining for Severus provokes in my heart…a yearning for a deeper connection - regardless of the relationship’s nature between us friends. And just like in the song, which I’ve mentioned above this text, I’m asking myself: “How can you miss someone, you’ve never met?”

Fortunately, I’m able to reach out to my friend in these occasions. I don’t have to weep over my fan fictions or my art collection…no, I can just grab my phone and annoy the fuck out of my beloved confidant. And I think, this is beautiful! 🥹

For this heartwarming piece of art, I’ve commissioned my friend @alinearthp once again. I asked her to draw Severus and my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules as young adults…going out to grab some butter beer in “The Three Broomsticks”. Whenever my longing for Severus becomes too strong, I’m trying to imagine him doing something casual like that with me…and now I’m doing the same with my long-distance-friend. For this reason, I’d like to dedicate this loving post to him. @preciousthelmadonna, you’re in my heart and in my thoughts every single day, since I got to meet you on tumblr. Despite those 6095 kilometres, which separate us from each other, it seems as if you’re right beside me, whenever we’re talking about everything and nothing at once. I’m beyond grateful for our connection, my love. Thank you for being you.

Oh, and @alinearthp, you made me smile with this cute drawing of Sevy and Jules! Thank you for your understanding of my ideas and for each of your lovely and kind messages! Feel hugged, my dear!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[adreamingrevenant]

[invinciblerodent]

himh I'll make a Dark Urge that's so fucking scared

big scary bloodsoaked killer, tearing through armies with her literal bare hands? nah. a quiet, scared girl who doesn't understand why she does what she does, why she can do what she can, but is, at the same time, deeply disgusted by herself because she has just enough self-awareness to know to be repulsed.

maybe it's because I'm a tiny bit obsessed with clinging to the thought that people, at the end of the day, are fundamentally good, no matter what. that there is a fundamental human goodness in all people that makes them worthy of redemption, or at least of the opportunity for atonement.

maybe the way I want to play a story like that is with someone who, stripped from indoctrination and free for the first time to think for herself and embrace and be who she is, finds that in the deepest, most hidden pits of her soul, she is not the strong, kind, resilient person she might want to be. try as the might, she is not someone who can bear the weight of her own past, she's just a... a terrified, broken little girl, cowering in the shadows and unable to look herself in the eye. (which also gives me ideas for her relationship with Orin but that's a little bit beside the point)

cathartic self-insert who. therapy? what is that. is it on Steam or Epic.

[bravevolunteer]

thinking about michael between pizza sim and security breach having a conversation with old man consequences…

[sar3nka]

Brain swings violently between "I need to hurt someone" and "I need someone to hurt me" I'm so glad I won't be home tomorrow because holy shit

[intergrader]

wow I really said I would post this summer but school starts in a week whoop de doo

[dutybcrne]

@voidlesslove said : I'd love to see Kaeya with the traveler as his mate. They'd immediately clock his scent as Inteyvats and depending on which it is would share theirs with him. (Side note I can totally see the traveler as a beta) 『 Related to this || Accepting 』

YES! 🥹